SCOTT McGOUGH                     SCOTT McGOUGH
                   "CHAINER'S TORMENT"
      
      (Magic: the Gathering. Odyssey cycle. Book II.)
 
    
    "Kamahl! Are you okay?"
    The barbarian waved Chainer off and dropped the rest of 
the way down to the ground, trying to evade the pollen. 
With his face half-buried in mulch, Kamahl coughed the 
pollen out and tried to suck clear forest air in.
    Chainer hesitated. He didn't want to leave Kamahl in 
the dirt, and he didn't want to face the grendelkin without 
support. The huge monster took a step forward and casually 
snapped the top off another tree. It used the tree as a 
crude club, and it shambled for-ward, slamming into the 
ground and other trees with each step. "Poison," Kamahl 
choked. His eyes were wet, but he had stopped coughing and 
was struggling back to his feet. "There aren't any 
poisonous plants in this part of Krosan, Chainer. We're 
being set up."
 
                         PROLOGUE
    
    Just outside the walls of Cabal City, far from the 
crushing waves of people and the ringing shouts in the 
marketplace, the young man pressed on. He called himself 
Chainer, and for the first time in a long, busy day he was 
unscheduled. He picked his way through the dwindling foot 
traffic, moving against the flow of people headed into the 
city. As he navigated around the last pedestrians in his 
path, he relished the rare gifts of free time and solitude. 
Without a training exercise to complete, an incantation to 
memorize, or a schedule to keep, Chainer was determined not 
to be found. He was a member of the Cabal by choice, 
ritual, and oath, and the Cabal demanded much from its 
initiates. His superiors would pounce on an idle boy 
proclaiming, "Nothing to do? I can fix that." Chainer hated 
being rewarded for good work with more work. Rather than 
waiting for that inevitable hammer to fall, Chainer ducked 
down an alley when no one was looking and headed for the 
gates.
    His pace slowed once he was clear of the city. It had 
been so long since he'd had any time to himself that he had 
all but forgotten how to enjoy it. He wondered what other 
people did when they weren't serving their own masters. 
More to the point, what did they do when they weren't 
trying their best simply to stay alive?
    As he wandered and pondered, Chainer walked through the 
squatters' shacks outside the city and into the salt flats 
toward the sparse, dying forest beyond. He ignored the 
sullen glares from the squatters themselves. If his 
membership in the Cabal didn't protect him from starving 
civilians, his own skills could. He was more alert for any 
of the dangerous wild beasts that lurked on the edges of 
this and every other settlement. Large predators were rare 
this close to the well-lit city gates and its armed guards, 
but the first thing the Cabal taught its members was to be 
careful with the Cabal's equipment, which included their 
own bodies.
    He altered his course and scanned the path through the 
marshy flats. Chainer moved along by choosing which parts 
of the muddy path to avoid rather than which ones he wanted 
to take. He grew lost in the rhythm and the repetition of 
trekking through the flats, unaware and unconcerned about 
how far he had traveled. He hiked until his shadow grew 
long before him, until a soft, insistent whisper broke 
through his reverie.
    It wasn't a voice, but it called directly to him. It 
wasn't a song, but the melody gave him chills. It wasn't an 
alarm, but it commanded his attention with an urgency that 
was soft but undeniable. He cupped a hand around his ear to 
help pinpoint the sound. The remains of a residential 
district sat to the southeast, and the sound was coming 
from there.
    Chainer listened for a moment, then started off toward 
the largest house on the ruined block. Its immediate 
neighbors had been bombed and burned flat. The ruined 
mansion with the caved-in roof and exposed frame stood 
tall, a broken but defiant veteran of a barely remembered 
war.
    Chainer paused at the bottom of the front porch steps. 
Except for the beckoning sound, the mansion was completely 
silent and still. Chainer expertly drew his knuckle dagger, 
clenched it blade-down and ready at his hip, and went 
carefully up the rickety porch. He doubted there was any 
live danger inside the mansion, but then again, he didn't 
want the Cabal's equipment to be damaged either.
    The interior of the mansion was in worse shape than the 
exterior. The main floor was more hole than floor, with the 
basement level clearly visible from the front doorway. An 
ornate metal banister led up to the second floor, but the 
staircase itself was gone, a pile of broken wood and carpet 
scraps in the basement below. Chainer looked closer and saw 
what appeared to be bones among the wreckage of the 
staircase. At least three complete humans, one of whom was 
very small.
    Chainer took one tentative step onto the threadbare 
floor, but before he could put his full weight down the 
ancient boards split and fell away. He stepped back onto 
the porch, which shuddered and swayed beneath him. Chainer 
grunted and scouted the entire first floor for a safe route 
down into the basement.
    Finding none, he sheathed his knuckle dagger and took 
his weapon and tool of choice-a ten-foot length of black 
metal chain-from his belt. He looped the hard, polished 
chain around the broken base of a statue that guarded the 
front doorway, and with the simplest spell he knew, 
connected the chain to itself.
    "Link," he whispered, and the spot he was staring at 
shimmered, then coalesced into a new link that was 
indistinguishable from the rest of the chain. Chainer 
leaned backward to cinch up the metal noose and test its 
strength. Then he lowered himself down into the still, 
musty debris.
    It was incredibly dark, the kind of darkness that 
caused him to wonder if his eyes were still open. He 
listened for any other movement and waited in vain for his 
eyes to adjust. The sound continued to call him, growing 
higher and more excited as he got closer. Methodically, he 
made his way across the basement toward the sound, testing 
the stone floor before putting any weight on it.
    By a pile of moth-eaten fabric and random junk, he lit 
one of his flare candles and immediately noticed the 
sphere. In a small bubble of bright light, Chainer stared 
in naked wonder at the treasure, hovering a clear foot off 
the ground, that had called to him across the salt flats.
    The smooth, flawless black ball somehow seemed to 
radiate darkness like fire radiates light. Chainer's flare 
only showed it in relief, for the sphere defined itself 
with its own anti-light. The edges of the sphere's dark 
field crackled and sparked as they rippled and undulated 
outward.
    Half-hypnotized by the black light and the triumphant 
crescendo of sound, Chainer had a vision of his future. The 
world around him dropped away, and in a flash of black 
light and silence he saw, felt, and knew the triumphant 
course his destiny would take. He would be a man of 
importance, of success, honored and obeyed as one of the 
true masters of the world. People and monsters alike would 
bow down before him, and at his pleasure they would live or 
die. He would be the Cabal's champion, its ambassador, its 
paragon, and he would spread its influence over the entire 
world.
    The light from Chainer's flare began to sputter and 
die. He could still hear the sphere's call, still feel its 
power vibrating in his skull. His course was clear. It was 
the most important thing in the world and as such fit only 
for the most important person in the world.
    "For the First," Chainer whispered. He firmly grabbed 
the glowing-black sphere, dropped it into his satchel, and 
pulled the leather drawstring tight.
    The First was undisputed lord and master of the entire 
Cabal, patriarch and protector of its members, supreme 
controller of its political and magical power. He managed 
the Cabal and all its assets from his manor inside the city 
walls, and he needed to see the treasure Chainer had 
uncovered right away. He alone deserved it.
    Chainer's eyes narrowed as he considered the trip back 
to Cabal City. It was one thing to walk without fear when 
one's pack was empty. Now that he had something worth 
stealing, opportunist vermin would swarm around it like 
maggots around a corpse. The shame and sin of losing the 
sphere before he had a chance to present it to the First 
would be unbearable.
    Chainer's flare went out, and he stood for a moment in 
the darkness. He quickly retraced his steps across the 
basement and found his chain where it still hung from 
above. He patted the precious cargo at his hip, smiled, and 
began to go hand-over-hand up the chain.
    Soon he would be back inside the city. He would 
petition for an audience with the First. And when the First 
laid hands on the black sphere, he would know what Chainer 
knew: that Chainer wanted nothing more than for his fate 
and his fortune to be forever tied to that of the Cabal.
 
                       PART ONE:
                       Cabalist
 
                       CHAPTER 1
 
    The sun was setting by the time Chainer returned to the 
salt flats outside the city. He welcomed the sight of his 
home but did not relax.
    A small armed party stood on the path between Chainer 
and the city gates. Chainer recognized one of the shapes as 
human and another as an aven bird warrior, but the other 
two were indistinct. All Chainer could tell from a distance 
was that one was tall and the other was short or crouching. 
The human and the aven were dressed in the brilliant white 
robes of the Order. Chainer slowed his pace but did not 
stop. The Order were a passel of militant moral fanatics 
who sought to impose their rules on all the citizens of 
Otaria. They considered all Cabalists criminals and the 
Cabal itself to be a blight on society, despite the fact 
that it thrived all across the continent. Civilized 
Otarians everywhere did business with the Cabal. They 
willingly and repeatedly attended Cabal spectacles, 
borrowed Cabal money, and begged for Cabal protection. As 
far as Chainer was concerned, the Order only offered the 
possibility of a nebulous spiritual reward, and even that 
was contingent upon obedience to their childish concept of 
justice. The Cabal was far more concrete and pragmatic. It 
provided food, shelter, and education for anyone willing to 
work for it.
    Chainer resumed his pace, quickly eliminating the 
distance between himself and the Order party. If he turned 
or otherwise tried to avoid them, they would surely follow. 
Best to confront them now.
    "Greetings, traveler," the human soldier called. "On 
your way to the city?" Judging by the wrap of the Order 
members' robes and the insignias on their shoulders, 
Chainer made the aven as an officer and the human as a foot 
soldier. Beside the officer squatted an ugly, even more 
birdlike creature with a long neck, jagged beak, and 
vicious sharp talons. The other, taller figure kept its 
back to Chainer, but he could see that it was one of the 
Nantuko, a tribe of intelligent mantislike creatures from 
the Krosan forest. Chainer was uneasy. The bug-men rarely 
came this close to the Cabal's city. "1. live there," 
Chainer said, "and I'm on my way home." "Have you seen the 
light of justice, my friend?" Chainer was now close enough, 
so they could speak without shouting. "I have. I found it 
wanting. Let me pass."
    "At ease, trooper," the aven officer said quietly. His 
voice was surprisingly human, but his beak clacked together 
at the end of each sentence. "This one is Cabal. Look at 
his eyes. They have that feral, vermin look about them."
    "Let me pass," Chainer repeated.
    The officer stepped forward. "I'm right, aren't I? You 
are Cabal. And according to the truce between your 
patriarch and our commander, we have the right to inspect 
any and all travelers on the road between here and the 
Krosan forest."
    "Bosh," Chainer snarled and gestured angrily. "The 
First never agreed to that."
    "Take it easy, son. Trooper Baankis?" The foot soldier 
drew his sword and stood at attention. To Chainer, the 
officer said, "We just need to search you to make sure you 
haven't smuggled anything out of the forest preserve."
    Trooper Baankis stepped forward, and Chainer looked 
over his shoulder at the city. If he could get past them, 
he knew he could outrun the man and the aven, at least 
until he was safe inside the gates. He wasn't sure about 
the ugly little bird, though. Or the Nantuko.
    Chainer waited until the trooper was right in front of 
him. When the trooper reached out to take Chainer's dagger, 
Chainer dropped down and kicked the man's feet out from 
under him with a wide sweep of his leg. He drew his dagger 
and fell across the trooper's neck and shoulders, the point 
of his blade poised over the trooper's eye. He stared 
defiantly at the officer.
    "Get stuffed. You're not touching me."
    The officer opened his beak in a cruel aven smiled. 
"You're hostile, even for a criminal. And now that you've 
attacked us, we have every right to take you down. Luckily, 
I think you're young enough to be successfully 
rehabilitated." He drew his own sword, and the bird at his 
feet croaked ominously.
    Chainer knew that when members of the Order spoke of 
rehabilitation they really meant brainwashing. As he 
prepared to fight and run, Chainer reached down to check 
the satchel at his side. As soon as his fingers made 
contact through the tough leather, the Nantuko suddenly 
exploded into violent motion. The mantis rose up and 
shrieked a trilling, high-pitched alarm. It flailed its 
forelimbs wildly as it tried to strike at Chainer, and it 
accidentally knocked the officer into the bird.
    Chainer nimbly dove over the mantis's sharp-hooked 
appendage and rolled onto his feet. He began to run, but 
the mantis sprang into the air and landed well ahead of him 
on the path. It was still chit-tering and swinging wildly.
    Chainer had never fought a Nantuko before and wasn't 
sure where he should aim his chain. He hesitated, and in 
that moment noticed that the mantis wasn't trying to strike 
him any more. In fact, it seemed to be trying its level 
best to avoid touching him at all, while putting on a loud 
display to drive Chainer away from the city. Was the 
enormous bug actually afraid of him?
    On a hunch, Chainer took his satchel from his waist and 
held it out at the mantis. The Nantuko keened and fell 
back, seemingly terrified of the satchel's contents. 
Chainer lunged forward, and the Nantuko sprang away.
    Chainer didn't waste the opportunity. He sprinted away 
from the Order party at top speed. He heard the officer 
ordering trooper Baankis to pursue and the frantic trilling 
of the Nantuko. He risked one last glance over his shoulder 
and saw the bug had turned and was calling into a small, 
swampy, wooded area of the salt flats. From within the 
stunted glade, something roared in reply. Chainer felt the 
ground nimble beneath his running feet and heard the ear-
splitting crack of live timber being splintered as 
something very large came forward to answer the Nantuko's 
call.
    Chainer fixed his eyes back on the city and 
concentrated on running as fast as he could.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Roup's tavern was on a lonely side street well off the 
main road that led to the city center and the Cabal seat of 
power. Chainer thought the term "tavern" was actually too 
generous. Roup's was a single room with a single door and a 
single foul-tasting grog on the menu.
    It was a welcome sight to Chainer, however. People 
didn't come to Roup's for the fare or the decor or the 
atmosphere. They came to be seen and heard at the very edge 
of the Cabal's web of influence. Or, as in Chainer's case, 
to escape from the Cabal's enemies.
    "The Cabal is here," Chainer greeted Roup through 
gritted teeth.
    "And everywhere," Roup replied.
    "I need your help, big brother."
    "Ask, little brother, and I shall answer."
    Chainer struggled to remain patient. Roup was 
technically his superior, but there was a clingy 
desperation to his manner that made Chainer's knife hand 
itch. He was flabby and slow, and Chainer thought he 
dressed like a molting parrot dunked in bile. Roup also 
tried to make every conversation last as long as possible, 
which made Chainer and everyone else try to cut them short. 
It was the general opinion of Cabalists everywhere that 
Roup deserved to be forgotten at the edge of the city. But 
the Cabal was, in fact, everywhere, and Roup was the 
Cabal's man in this sector. He also had the only means of 
direct communication to the organization's headquarters in 
the heart of the city.
    "I need to use the grapevine," Chainer said. "It's 
important."
    Roup laughed jovially and poured himself a half-goblet 
of noxious green liquid. "It's always important with you 
young ones. 'Oh, I've lost the message I was supposed to 
deliver. Oh, a mean elder stole my package. Woe is me, I 
stubbed my toe.' Relax, little brother. You'll live 
longer."
    Chainer patted the satchel at his side. "I have a 
delivery for the First. I need you to contact-"
    "The First is only twelve blocks away," Roup smirked. 
"Did you forget the way? Go out the front door, turn left . 
. ." Roup trailed off, waiting for Chainer to join him in a 
smirk.
    "I know where the manor is," Chainer said. "The problem 
isn't the path, it's-"
    "Now that you mention it," Roup went on, "I'll bet you 
a silver marker that if you stood on my doorstep and 
shouted, the First would hear-"
    "Big brother," Chainer snapped. "The Order is waiting 
outside."
    "You led them here?"
    "I had no choice. 'Here' is directly between the First 
and where they tried to grab me."
    "How many are there?" "Two. Plus-"
    Roup sipped thoughtfully. "Only two? 1 would have 
thought a clever and-" he gestured with his goblet at 
Chainer's belt- "well armed little brother like yourself 
could handle a meager pair of toy soldiers." He slid the 
decanter of green liquid toward Chainer. "Drink?" Chainer 
ignored the decanter and stared fixedly at Roup. "No thank 
you, big brother. And the toy soldiers are also armed. 
Heavily. They have one of those bug-boys with them as well, 
and I think something big from Krosan. They met me coming 
into the city and tried to arrest me. They chased me here, 
and they're waiting for me now, out there. I need an escort 
to reach the First."
    Roup chuckled. "An escort, little brother? We're very 
important all of a sudden, aren't we? Why don't I get on 
the grapevine and order the First himself to come here and 
save you the trip?" He snorted an ugly little laugh at his 
own cleverness.
    "All I want," Chainer said evenly, "is to deliver this 
package to the First. To do that, I need to get in touch 
with my mentor. His name is Skellum." Chainer watched Roup 
digest this new bit of information. Master Skellum's name 
carried some weight, even here. "Well, little brother," 
Roup said finally, "if this package for the First is so 
important, why don't you just leave it with me? I can have 
an armed escort here by sunrise, and then I'll take it to 
him myself when I deliver my tally tomorrow. In the 
meantime, you can hide in my cellar and stay out of my 
way."
    "It cannot wait for tomorrow," Chainer said stiffly. 
"And I will not surrender it to anyone but the First."
    Roup raised an eyebrow, obviously slighted. "Present 
the package, little brother. I will decide who gives it to 
the First."
    Reluctantly, Chainer took the satchel off his belt. 
Slowly, mechanically, he extended it out to arm's length 
and placed it in the center of the table. He kept his eyes 
fixed and his arm extended as Roup leaned forward.
    When Roup's hand touched the drawstring, Chainer 
struck. He whipped his dagger out of its shoulder sheath 
and slammed the point deep into the table, through the 
sleeve of Roup's garish robe. Without pausing, he looped 
his chain under Roup's chin and sprang up, flipping his 
body over Roup's head and rolling down the tavern keeper's 
back like a hedgehog down a hill. Chainer's full weight 
pulled the chain close around Roup's throat, and as the 
young man came to his feet, he twisted the chain even 
tighter. With the same whispered spell he had used inąthe 
ruined mansion, he linked the chain to itself, creating a 
choking collar that didn't kill Roup outright but did make 
it difficult for the old windbag to breathe.
    Roup struggled feebly and clawedąat his throat with his 
free hand.
    "Big brother," Chainer hissed in his ear, "I am going 
to show you the package now. I want us to be completely 
clear on one point, however-it is mine to deliver. Mine. I 
found itī I fought for it, and I will kill anyone whoątries 
to keep me from giving it to the First with my own hands."
    Roup gagged and choked, and the sleeve of his robe 
began to tear.
    "Are we clear, big brother?"
    Roup's head jerked up and down. He banged his chin on 
the table, spilling both the goblet and the decanter. 
Chainer touched the link that was keeping the collar tight.
    "Break," he whispered, and it shimmered away into 
nothing. He allowed Roup enough slack to gasp and cough, 
but he kept the chain firmly around the tavern keeper's 
neck. Roup was the only one who could use the grapevine 
from this location, so Chainer needed him alive and 
conscious.
    "With your free hand," Chainer said, "open the package. 
But don't touch what's inside. Clear?"
    Roup sucked in a few more wheezing gulps of air and 
shot Chainer a murderous look over his shoulder. Chainer 
could see the dire threats of retribution forming in Roup's 
mind, but the chatty old bore was smart enough not to 
challenge Chainer's advantage. Chainer suspected that Roup 
had often been held hostage and was probably used to it by 
now. Besides, his natural greed and curiosity were piqued. 
Slowly, carefully, he undid the drawstring.
    For several long minutes there was no sound other than 
Roup's ragged breathing as he stared at Chainer's sphere. 
Chainer himself waited patiently, resting just enough 
weight on Roup's back to keep him still and just enough 
tension on his throat to keep him obedient.
    Roup's voice was a hoarse, painful whisper. "You win, 
little brother. What do you need?"
    "Get on the grapevine," Chainer said immediately. 
"Contact the proving grounds and inform Skellum that his 
pupil Chainer is waiting for him here. Tell him it's an 
emergency. Tell him to come now."
    Chainer released Roup's throat and spun lightly around 
the table. As he passed Roup's pinned sleeve, Chainer 
retrieved his dagger.
    "And tell him to come heavy."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Less than an hour later, Chainer walked out of Roup's 
tavern. Skellum said he would meet Chainer outside, and 
that Chainer was to distract the Order's bully boys until 
he arrived.
    The sun had recently set, and the night was dark, cold, 
and clear. Oil-burning street lamps flickered. His enemies 
were waiting for him in the street.
    The two Order soldiers stood rigid and humorless, 
watching Roup's doorway. The small bird-thing squatted 
beside the aven officer, and it croaked unpleasantly as 
Chainer came out. There was no sign of the mantis or its 
beast. There was likewise no sign of Skellum.
    "That's far enough," the officer called. "This is fair 
warning, boy.
    If you run again, we will be forced to injure you. If 
you retreat back into that den of filth, we will burn it 
down."
    Chainer glared at him, but did not speak. "Distract 
them," Skellum had said, but the mere sight of these fake 
do-gooders in their gleaming white robes galled Chainer 
like an abscess. He had fought many Order soldiers, both on 
the streets and in the Cabal's fighting pits, and he was 
always eager to take on another. He wondered if Skellum 
would consider crippling stab wounds enough of a 
distraction.
    "I am Major Teroh," the aven said. "In the name of the 
Order, I hereby claim you and that satchel at your waist. 
If you come with us now, you will not be harmed. You'll 
spend a night as a guest on a warm, safe bedroll. You might 
even get a hot meal out of it.
    "We don't want to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in 
fact. But whatever it is you're carrying," he paused, 
searching for the right words, "belongs with us. It's 
simply too dangerous for the likes of you."
    Chainer made no effort to hide his disgust. "You don't 
even know what you're talking about, do you?"
    "Not as such," Teroh bristled at Chainer's scorn. "But 
if I saw a book of spells written in a foreign language, I 
still wouldn't let a child read from it."
    "Go find a child with a book, then," Chainer said. "I'm 
on Cabal business. I don't need an Order librarian wasting 
my time."
    Major Teroh scowled. "I won't ask you again."
    "Suits me. Then I won't have to ignore you again."
    "Trooper Baankis," the major said loudly, and the foot 
soldier snapped to an even more rigid state of attention.
    "Yes, Major!"
    "Relieve this willful young man of his burden. If he 
resists . . . subdue him. No permanent damage."
    "Yes, sir!" Baankis started forward, and Chainer drew 
his knuckle dagger. He held it expertly out in front of him 
in his left hand. His right hand was balled into a fist at 
his side, and he stood lightly on his toes with his weight 
evenly balanced.
    "At ease, trooper." Baankis halted. The major scowled 
again, and shook his head in frustration. He called out to 
Chainer, "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" 
When Chainer didn't reply, Teroh shook his head. "Baankis, 
stand down."
    "Sir!"
    Teroh jerked the bird-thing's leash, and it spread its 
wings and shook itself. The major turned to Baankis and 
said, "Stand by to collect one bad-mannered boy and one 
mysterious satchel."
    "Yes, sir!"
    Major Teroh dropped the bird's leash and pointed at 
Chainer. "Subdue," he said, and the bird took flight.
    Chainer watched it bearing down on him, its wingspan as 
wide as he was tall. It swerved so as to avoid the dagger 
clutched tight in his left hand. Chainer knew that with its 
speed and its long neck it could disarm him, knock him 
over, or pin him down before his blade could even touch it. 
Grimly, he waited.
    When the bird was ten feet away, Chainer lashed out 
with his right hand. The length of chain he had been 
concealing snapped out, screaming directly toward the 
oncoming bird. Chainer's aim was excellent. The sharpened 
weight at the end of the chain smashed clean through the 
bird's skull, killing it instantly. Chainer caught the 
still-twitching corpse as it crashed into his chest and let 
it drop heavily to the ground.
    "Callda!" Major Teroh shouted.
    Chainer held onto the chain, now threaded through the 
ruined skull of the bird, and sneered at Teroh. "Callda, 
was it? Friend of yours, Major, or a distant cousin? Don't 
worry, it didn't die in vain." Chainer scornfully nudged 
the carcass. "I'll light a candle for it when I get home." 
He put his knuckle dagger back into the quick-release 
sheath on his shoulder.
    "Baankis," Teroh growled and drew his sword. "Advance. 
If this murderous little worm survives, he is going to 
spend the next three years in a rehabilitation work camp."
    Baankis was wide-eyed but resolute. "Yes, sir." Chainer 
was pleased to hear that his replies were no longer so 
crisp and regimental.
    "Hold on, Major," Chainer said. "If you liked that, 
you're going to love this." Without waiting, Chainer 
dropped to his knees by Callda's body, clenched the end of 
his chain tighter, and reached out to the corpse with his 
mind as Master Skellum had taught him.
    The bird's heart had only recently stopped beating. 
Robbed of any vital impetus, its blood gave in to gravity 
and began to pool in its torso. Its muscles drained and 
deflated, its body temperature dropped, and its joints 
started to stiffen. Chainer took hold of the energy being 
released by the bird's transition from life to death and 
channeled it up and into his chain.
    "The Cabal is here," he whispered, and then he cried 
out as a jolting rush of energy leaped up the chain and 
into his own body. He felt his consciousness expand, he 
felt his arms and legs grow stronger and more responsive, 
he felt his thoughts clarify. He stood and jerked the chain 
free from Callda's skull. He began to twirl it around his 
head, letting out more and more of it as it spun. Chainer 
was ferocious in his joy. This was going better than he 
could have imagined. Perhaps he wouldn't need Skellum's 
help after all.
    "Keep your distance, Bunkus," he said to the foot 
soldier, and he could hear the confidence in his voice as 
it echoed off the street's paving stones. Charged by the 
death of Callda, Chainer was flush with the arcane darkness 
that was the source of the Cabal's power. He felt 
immovable, invincible. With the barest thought, he 
magically added another six feet to his chain and created 
another sharpened weight for the end in his hand. Soon he 
had two lethal missiles dancing a complicated minuet around 
every inch of his body. The chain automatically increased 
or decreased in length as it flew, according to its 
master's will. Young as he was, Chainer was an expert with 
the long chain, and he even dared to mock Teroh from the 
safety of its whirling radius.
    "Your move, Major," he called. "There's a hot meal and 
a safe bed waiting for me at the Cabal, too. If you let me 
pass, maybe we'll both sleep well tonight."
    Teroh's eyes were wild, and his voice was tight in his 
throat. With a visible effort of will, he swallowed his 
fury and barked, "Reseda!"
    Chainer heard a buzz and saw a blur. A sudden impact on 
his chest knocked him backward so hard that Roup's door 
rattled on its hinges. His chain snarled and tangled around 
him clumsily, and one of the weighted ends gashed painfully 
into his shin. Dazed, he looked up.
    The mantis-man stood over him, chittering in its 
incomprehensible insect language. It jammed one of its 
pointed forelimbs into the solid stone beside Chainer's 
head and hissed at him. There was another buzz, another 
blur, and the mantis disappeared back into the alley behind 
Major Teroh.
    "Reseda hates this city," Teroh said, "but he hates 
that thing in your satchel even more."
    Chainer coughed and tasted blood. He had bitten his 
tongue and split his lip. His ears were still ringing, and 
his vision was tilted sideways. At least his ribs weren't 
broken, he thought. He could still breathe, albeit 
painfully.
    "Now then, Cabalist," Teroh continued, spitting the 
last word out like poison. "You will surrender. Trooper 
Baankis and I are going to bind your hands. If you behave, 
we will even bind your wounds. Then you will accompany us 
back to our citadel where you will offer apologies and make 
restitution for Callda. And then, you will be 
rehabilitated."
    Chainer grunted. "Die first. And haunt you forever."
    "I don't think so." Teroh waved his hand in front of 
him, whispering, and the razor edges of both his and 
Baankis's swords began to glow brightly. "Baankis?"
    "Sir!" Trooper Baankis had regained his gusto.
    "Forward." The two soldiers advanced in step with their 
swords drawn and radiant. Chainer struggled to get to his 
feet but slumped back against the door of the tavern.
    "My goodness," came a silky, sinuous voice. "Now this 
is simply unacceptable. Chainer, what have you been up to?"
    The speaker stepped out from around the corner of the 
building into the light. He was a small, neat man, elegant 
in his manner and graceful in his movements. He was dressed 
in form-fitting snakeskin died midnight black, and he wore 
a waterproof cape with a bright red collar and black fur 
lining. His head was completely concealed by a bell-shaped 
hat made of grayish paper stretched tight between stiff 
wire ribs. The hat hung loosely from a hook that sprouted 
up from a wire rig attached to his shoulders. It had gaps 
between every second panel that allowed him to see, but 
each gap was only a few inches wide.
    One of the gaps was now positioned directly in front of 
his face. He had clear blue eyes, an elegant beard, and a 
neat mustache. Beside him stood a huge black dog whose head 
was as big as a pony's. The dog's shoulder came up to the 
man's elbow, and she clearly outweighed him. Her eyes 
glowed dusky red in the shadow of her brow.
    "My name is Skellum, and I wear a silly hat." The 
newcomer spoke brightly, as if introducing himself to a 
dinner party full of children. "Is there a problem, 
officer?"
 
                       CHAPTER 2
 
    "Azza, old girl," Skellum said, and the massive dog 
beside him pricked up her ears. "Check on young Chainer,    
will    you?" Despite his pain, Chainer was thrilled. Only 
the Cabal elite had access to the hellhounds,   and   
Chainer   had never seen one so close. Major Teroh regarded 
the new arrivals     suspiciously.     Chainer watched his 
eyes dart from Skellum to the dog to the doorway of Roup's 
tavern. Chainer knew all of the Order's toy soldiers prided 
themselves on their ability to control every situation they 
encountered. Teroh was clearly weighing the odds as Azza 
came closer.
    "Stop right there," Teroh said. Azza paused, then 
growled at Teroh so deeply that Chainer felt it in his 
spine twenty feet away. "This boy-" Teroh began.
    "Chainer," Skellum corrected him gently. "He is called 
Chainer." "This boy," Teroh repeated, "is transporting 
contraband. When we tried to examine it, he lashed out at 
Trooper Baankis and ran. When we caught up to him, he 
killed one of my best crusat birds. He is coming with us."
    "Oh dear," Skellum said. "That is a problem. Are you 
sure we can't come to some sort of arrangement?" He smiled.
    "We don't make deals with the likes of you," Teroh 
said.
    "Everyone does business with the Cabal," Skellum said 
cheerfully. "This is our city, after all. It's merely a 
question of what you want and what you're willing to give."
    Teroh's voice rose. "If that dog takes one more step 
toward that boy, I'll give it the flat of my blade. Call 
off your dog, and leave us to our duty."
    "Well now, that raises another problem. I can't 'call 
her off.' Azza here has been in the Cabal longer than I 
have, so technically she outranks me." As Skellum prattled 
on, Chainer stood and gathered up his tangled chain as 
inconspicuously as he could. Where Roup talked too much 
because he was lonely and pathetic, Skellum talked too much 
to defuse the situation and give Chainer time to recover.
    "I could suggest to her that she back off, but if she 
doesn't want to ... Hang on. Chainer? Are you bleeding?"
    "Yes, Mentor." Then he hissed to Azza, who was closest 
to him, "There's a big bug in that alley. And something 
else, I-"
    "She knows," Skellum called. "Officer . . . Sorry, I 
didn't catch your name."
    "I am Major Teroh, and this conversation is over."
    Skellum stroked his well-trimmed beard. "Major, 
officer, officer, major. What's the difference?" He looked 
at Chainer. "A major is an officer, isn't it?"
    "This major is an ass," spat Chainer.
    Teroh stiffened, and Skellum sighed.
    "Anyway. Major Teroh. Was it you who damaged my pupil?"
    Teroh sneered. "I had him damaged, yes. Because he 
resisted, just like you're resisting now. And if you don't 
want to be damaged, I suggest. . ." Teroh's voice trailed 
off.
    As soon as the word "yes" passed Teroh's lips, Skellum 
changed. His calm demeanor grew darker, and his voice 
hardened. The happy gleam in his eyes became a cold, 
penetrating glare. Little knots of muscle formed in his 
cheeks, and he spoke through clenched teeth.
    "The Cabal is here, Major, and everywhere. Chainer is 
Cabal, and more, he is under my protection. Whatever 
Chainer has done to you, you in turn owe us for his injury. 
Now we have to come to an arrangement. No one walks away 
from a Cabal debt. No one."
    "True gods," Teroh snapped in exasperation. "Do any of 
you bog-wallowers live in this world? We are the Order. We 
are the law. And we have you outnumbered. Reseda!"
    Chainer was ready for the blur this time. As the mantis 
sprang out of the alley toward Skellum, Chainer tried 
simultaneously to shout a warning and draw back his chain. 
He needn't have bothered.
    Fast as Reseda was, Azza was even faster, and her 
center of gravity was far lower. Reseda's thorax crashed 
into Azza's driving shoulder, and even Chainer winced as he 
heard the insect's exoskeleton crack. Six hundred pounds of 
magically bred and enhanced canine reared up and slammed 
her powerful head into Reseda's shoulder and throat. The 
crippled mantis spun painfully onto the paving stones, and 
the hellhound clamped onto him, gripping Reseda's shoulder 
joint and half of his face with her massive jaws. Azza bit 
down to immobilize the mantis, but she did not injure 
Reseda further. She let out a single, explosive bark, and 
Reseda screamed in his eerie, alien tongue. Teroh and 
Baankis were wide-eyed and speechless.
    "Now, Major," Skellum said coldly, "about that 
arrangement."
    Teroh recovered first. He pointed his still-glowing 
sword and said, "Turn my ally loose, Skellum. Your dog is 
impressive, but you've just overplayed your hand."
    "Have I?" He walked over to Azza and Reseda, who was 
hissing and chittering out a steady stream of mantis talk. 
Chainer didn't understand a word of it, but he guessed it 
was either a prayer or a curse.
    "It seems to me," Skellum continued, "that we have the 
advantage. Granted, I'm not a military man like yourself, 
but still. . . ." Casually, he reached up and gave the brim 
of his hat a push. The yoke-and-hook rig he wore was 
designed to let the hat spin freely, and it did, revealing 
Skellum's face in brief flashes as the gaps went round and 
round.
    A secret, electric thrill ran through Chainer as he 
watched Teroh's face. The major had no idea what Master 
Skellum was doing-or how dangerous it was.
    "You're through, Major," Chainer called out. "And you 
don't even know it."
    Azza growled at Chainer, and the next flashes of 
Skellum's face showed an angry glare directed at his pupil. 
He gave his hat another spin and refocused on the matter at 
hand. Baankis looked at Chainer in confusion. Teroh ignored 
them all. Instead, he concentrated on the words pouring out 
of Reseda and nodded to himself. Reseda had been repeating 
the same syllable over and over, his clicking voice growing 
louder and more shrill with each repetition. "What's he 
saying?" Skellum asked. Teroh actually smiled, cruelly. 
"He's saying 'kill.'" "Oh, it's not that bad." Skellum's 
voice was becoming distant, almost sleepy, and the strobe 
flashes of his face revealed eyes rolled back and jaw 
hanging slack. "A few herbs, some bed rest, maybe some time 
in the hot springs ..."
    "He's issuing a command, not a request. I am a military 
man, Mr. Skellum, and we military men know enough to keep 
some forces in reserve." From deep within the alley Reseda 
had occupied came a rumbling, trumpeting roar. Trooper 
Baankis side-stepped away from the entrance, and Major 
Teroh waited confidently for his reserve forces to appear. 
Skellum gave his hat another spin.
    Something huge was dragging itself down the alley. 
Chainer stole a glance at Skellum, who was starting to 
weave and list from side to side as his hat continued to 
whirl. Chainer nervously wound his chain around one hand, 
then the other. He hadn't had a real look at the mantis's 
associate, but he knew neither his weapons nor his skills 
would be enough to stop it. He was relying on Master 
Skellum to meet this new challenge.
    The monster lurched heavily out of the alley and 
cracked the stones beneath it. Its skin was hairy and warty 
green, and it had natural armored plates across its chest 
and shoulders. It dragged itself forward on tree-trunk-
thick arms that were taller than a person. Its huge, round 
head sat directly on its boulder-sized torso, which tapered 
off at the waist down to two spindly legs that dragged 
uselessly behind it. Chainer thought it looked like a cross 
between a tadpole in mid-metamorphosis and a whale.
    "Oooh," Skellum said dreamily. "A grendelkin. I haven't 
seen one of those since I was a boy. Pity about its hind 
legs, though. Was it born stunted, or did someone cripple 
it?"
    The grendelkin opened its mouth and roared, displaying 
triple rows of gnarled molars.
    "Take a good look," Teroh said grimly. "You'll never 
see another." He waved a hand to catch the grendelkin's 
attention, and then pointed at Azza, Reseda, and Skellum. 
Reseda was still screeching, "kill, kill," over and over. 
Azza shook him once, roughly, and the forest dweller 
finally passed out.
    The sudden silence seemed to drive the grendelkin over 
the edge. It roared again and stomped angrily toward Azza. 
Teroh said something to Baankis that Chainer couldn't hear, 
and the two soldiers moved toward Chainer once more. 
Chainer started his chain whirling. He hoped to slam the 
weighted end into one of Teroh's softer parts and then cut 
Baankis's hamstring with his dagger before Teroh recovered.
    Even as he prepared to fight for his life, Chainer kept 
an eye on
    Skellum. He was the only one in the street to see his 
mentor reach up with both hands and decisively stop the 
brim of his hat with a gap directly in front of his face.
    Master Skellum's entire head was gone. In its place was 
a whirling vortex of black smoke and purple light. There 
was a muffled boom from deep inside the hat, and a solid 
nugget of smoke leaped out through the gap, trailing 
charnel gas and soot. The nugget expanded at soon as it was 
clear of Skellum's hat, exploding into a full-fledged 
creature straight out of a madman's nightmare.
    It was still smoking and burned from its journey. It 
was exactly as big as the grendelkin. In fact, it looked a 
great deal like the grendelkin, except its lower half 
narrowed into a muscular serpent's tail complete with 
rattle. Its eyes bulged out of its skull and looked 
independently in all directions. It had no armor plating, 
but it did have a long, barbed tongue that flashed out 
between its jagged teeth.
    "Did I mention I had seen one as a boy?" Skellum asked. 
His voice sounded exactly as it had when Skellum first 
arrived, except it seemed to be coming from inside 
Chainer's head. Skellum's silky tone was as calm and 
measured as a man lighting his pipe. "I may have gotten a 
few details wrong, and I've always been partial to rattler 
tails. . . ."
    Skellum's nightmare grendelkin caught sight of its 
shrivel-waisted counterpart and screeched like a stooping 
eagle. The forest brute roared in reply. Both monsters 
simultaneously launched forward, coming together with a 
titanic crunch that partially flattened their torsos 
against one another. They tore at each other with their 
claws.
    "Azza?" Skellum said, and the big dog grunted in 
agreement. She tossed Reseda's unconscious body at the 
soldiers. Baankis yelped and stepped backward while Teroh 
dropped his guard and threw himself in front of the flying 
mantis, trying to minimize Reseda's impact on the hard 
stone.
    Chainer seized the opportunity and sent the weighted 
end of his chain screaming across Baankis's forehead. The 
deep slash began to bleed before Chainer could reel his 
weapon back in, and the hapless foot soldier fell to his 
knees, momentarily blinded.
    Skellum's vortex-head boomed again, and two more 
smoking comets leaped out. One transformed into a scaly 
humanoid horror with long, dragging arms that ended in 
harpoonlike spikes. The other, smaller one seemed to be 
composed entirely of wings and legs. The harpoon-handed 
thing began to stalk the tangled heap that was Teroh and 
Reseda, and the flying thing howled like a wolf and took 
off into the air. It shot down the street and, still 
howling, disappeared around the comer.
    Azza padded up to Chainer.
    "Get on," Skellum called. "My other new friend has gone 
ahead to clear your path. I'll be along directly."
    Chainer took one last look at the melee. The two 
grendelkin were locked in a brutal stalemate while sword 
and harpoon clashed, and Baankis groped along the ground 
for his weapon.
    Azza urged him out of his reverie with a scolding bark. 
Chainer slung himself onto her back and took firm hold of 
the extra skin around her neck and shoulders.
    "To the manor, please," he said, and Azza bounded off, 
fast as a small horse and ten times more dangerous. Chainer 
threw one last look over his shoulder as Azza followed the 
winged thing's path down the street.
    Major Teroh had managed to hack off one of the 
harpooner's arms at the elbow, but it was still pressing 
its attack. The officer had planted his feet, refusing to 
abandon the unconscious mantis. Chainer was mildly 
impressed, but such bravery could well cost Teroh his life. 
Baankis was trying to clear his eyes with water from his 
canteen. Skellum's grendelkin had its tail wrapped tightly 
around the space where its double's throat would have been 
if it had a neck. They rolled over and over, crunching 
paving stones and flattening storefronts in their wake.
    The last thing he saw before Azza turned the corner was 
Skellum whipping his cape around himself with a flourish, 
his face smiling and normal, as he backed calmly into the 
shadows he'd come from.
    Rescued by his mentor, safe on Azza's back, and en 
route to the First with his package intact, Chainer allowed 
himself a single, short burst of joyous laughter. Then he 
hunkered down to make sure he stayed on long enough to 
enjoy the ride.
                       
                       CHAPTER 3
 
    Skellum's howling, flying thing had done its job. There 
was no one on the streets to observe Azza and Chainer as 
they galloped toward the manor. He saw several frightened 
faces peeking out through windows or from behind cracked 
doors, but no one was foolish enough to risk interfering 
with Azza's progress.
    They raced past the initiates' dormitories, where 
Chainer lived after Skellum started training him. Beyond 
the dorms was the largest port on the continent, its docks 
wholly owed and operated by the Cabal. Between the docks 
and the dorms was the city's main arena, the bloody pits 
where Chainer had fought for and earned a place in the 
Cabal's hierarchy. Azza bounded though a sharp left turn, 
and there it was: the manor, where the First lived and 
lorded, where all the world came to bow and beg for the 
Cabal's favor.
    Chainer had only been inside once before for his 
initiation, but he remembered every detail. It was a huge 
structure, ten stories high and two city blocks wide. The 
thick stone walls had been carved and set by the finest 
dwarf masons and further reinforced with magic and metal. 
It would take the destruction of the entire city and a 
half-mile of the bedrock below to put a dent in the First's 
home. The gleaming silver cathedral dome at the top was 
polished to a high shine, so that it reflected whatever was 
in the sky above it like a great convex mirror. At the very 
end of Manor Way, where Azza and Chainer were, the dome and 
the toothed drawbridge gate combined with the huge 
observation towers in front of it all to give the viewer an 
impression of a huge, grinning, metallic skull with horns.
    Home at last, Chainer thought, but his good humor was 
already fading. Passersby this close to the manor were more 
used to screeching monsters than the people in Roup's 
neighborhood. Skellum's winged thing had only caused this 
foot traffic to clear a path rather than vanish behind 
locked doors. The sparse crowds gave Chainer and Azza 
plenty of space but eyed them suspiciously as they passed. 
Chainer touched his dagger and the satchel at his hip, 
mentally preparing himself for the next challenge he would 
face. Getting to the manor was only the first step. He 
would have to get inside and then convince layer upon layer 
of armed guards and petty bureaucrats that what he carried 
was for the First alone. Azza seemed to pick up on his 
concern, and she slowed to a trot. Chainer anxiously 
prodded her with his heels, but she stopped him with a 
menacing growl.
    "Sorry," he said. "I'm a little nervous. Will you help 
me get inside, or are you just taking me to the gate?"
    Azza craned her head around and regarded Chainer with 
one red smoldering eye. She coughed, unimpressed, and then 
sprang forward at full gallop once more. Chainer hung on, 
smiling slightly.
    The guard on the gate was a six-foot-tall woman with 
three yellow eyes and vivid purple hair cropped close to 
her head. She was burly and broad-shouldered, with long 
serrated fingernails painted to match her hair. Unlike most 
of the guards Chainer had met in his life, she seemed 
neither bored nor bullying.
    "Who goes?" she called. The top eye in the middle of 
her forehead squinted in the dusky gloom.
    "The Cabal is here," Chainer said.
    "And everywhere," the guard replied. All three eyes now 
squinted. "Azza, old girl, is that you?"
    Azza coughed again, then reared up, almost tossing 
Chainer off her back.
    The left eye winked at Azza while the other two 
oriented on Chainer. "And you must be Skellum's boy."
    "I am Chainer. I seek an audience with the First. I 
have urgent-"
    The guard held up her hands. "Easy, little brother." 
She grinned, and Chainer saw that her teeth were serrated, 
like her nails, and they too matched the color of her hair.
    "We've been expecting you." The guard stepped aside and 
waved the mounted pair in. "Proceed to the Great Hall. You 
will be met there and escorted to the First. Azza," she 
added, "don't let him wander off on his own."
    Azza growled, more annoyed than angry, and the guard 
laughed. As the great dog padded into the manor, the guard 
winked at Chainer with all three of her eyes in succession.
    Unlike the offices in the administration building, the 
interior of the manor was decidedly still and silent. The 
First used the manor primarily for advanced rituals and to 
receive important guests. All of the Cabal's actual work 
was conducted in the streets, in the homes and offices of 
syndicate executives, or in the arena. Apart from a handful 
of visible guards, there were very few people between the 
entranceway and the Great Hall. Chainer gazed around as 
Azza bore him on, taking in the ornate decoration, the 
trophy displays of wealth and prestige, and the simple, 
sheer power humming from the gemstone chandelier. 
Overwhelmed, Chainer lowered his eyes and focused on Azza's 
muscular neck. He was being admitted to the manor, escorted 
into the presence of the First, and, he reminded himself, 
he carried the finest treasure yet at his side.
    "Eyes up, little brother." Skellum waited for them near 
the fireplace at the center of the Great Hall. Before 
Chainer could hail his mentor, Azza sat down and tossed him 
off with a short shrug of her shoulders. She bounded up to 
Skellum.
    "Of course I'm fine," Skellum held his hand out, and 
Azza sniffed it. She quickly sniffed the air around him and 
then barked happily. "No problems, I take it?" Skellum 
nuzzled Azza behind the ears, but he raised his voice to 
address Chainer as well.
    "None, mentor-" Azza interrupted Chainer with a long, 
low, warning growl. When he quickly fell silent, she tossed 
her head under Skellum's hand and prodded him gently with 
her muzzle. She looked back at Chainer and barked once, 
angrily.
    "I'll get to that," Skellum said. Azza barked again, 
and in three great thundering leaps, she was face-to-face 
with Chainer.
    She let out another slow, deep growl. With his complete 
and utter attention, she stared into his eyes for a moment, 
coughed, and then kissed him sloppily once from chin to 
forehead. Chainer was only dimly aware of her bounding 
away, back out the front gate.
    "What was that all about?"
    Skellum had not moved, and he stared at Chainer 
meaningfully. "She likes you. She's not usually that 
affectionate." "Before that. The barking. The growl."
    "She's also mad at you for opening your mouth in front 
of that Order officer."
    "She what? But-"
    "As am I, little brother," Skellum said. "Or were you 
simply unaware of how carefully I had put things together 
in order to help you? Did you think it was easy to arrange 
for an interview with the First on short notice? So easy 
that you could taunt an enemy before he was defeated? Is it 
a simple matter to arrange safe passage through half the 
city while simultaneously mustering enough tooth and claw 
to back down an Order officer and his entourage? Did you 
think of these things when you opened your mouth? Did any 
of this cross your mind at any time, little brother?"
    "No, Master."
    Skellum's eyes sparkled when he smiled. He double 
checked to make sure Azza was gone. "Me, neither. That's 
how I'm able to perform such miracles, my boy. I don't know 
what's impossible."
    Chainer laughed in relief, but caught himself. "Master, 
I regret taunting the toy soldier before he was beaten. I 
will do better."
    "And better still," Skellum said, his silky voice gone 
cold again. "You killed that warty little bird."
    "Yes, Master."
    "You killed it."
    "Yes."
    "Killed it." Skellum's voice was fading, and Chainer 
waited a moment before clearing his throat.
    "Yes, Master. I killed it."
    Skellum shook his head. "Very bad. I'll have to explain 
why, but you'll have to explain first." He looked up 
brightly. "Ha, ha. You'll have to explain . . . first!" He 
shook his head, smiling.
    Chainer had seen Skellum fade out before, but it was 
usually much later in the evening, when his thoughts were 
not so ordered and his control began to slip. He gently 
took his master's hand and pulled him a step forward, 
spinning his hat so that a gap was by Skellum's ear.
    "Master Skellum," he said evenly, "we are meant to see 
the First now. You have to take me to him."
    "Don't touch my hat!" Skellum flinched. "Hm? Chainer! 
There you are." Skellum yanked his hand free and quickly 
reoriented his hat so he could see out of both eyes. "Right 
you are. We're to see the First. You've got the . . . er. 
What is it you've got again?"
    "A fabulous treasure."
    "And you've got this fabulous treasure with you?"
    "Right here."
    "Keep it handy. You remember the most important rule?"
    "No one may touch the First."
    "Very good. And tonight, young Chainer, there is 
something else. The First is very interested in what you 
have to show him. In what you have to say, but that just 
means he'll be even more difficult to impress. If you had 
passed him at a formal dinner and said, 'Hey, look at this 
fabulous treasure,' it would have been an easy sell. But 
we've asked for a special audience, a great inconvenience 
to a busy man like him. We must tread lightly.
    "Do not speak to the First unless he speaks to you. If 
he approaches you, stand perfectly still. Don't do anything 
that might annoy him, and for Kuberr's sake, don't flail 
around or duck away from him. The last man to do that was 
killed, reanimated, and propped up in the smoking lounge 
for five years, so guests could put their cigars out on his 
forehead. You may want to spend the next half-decade as a 
zombie ashtray, but I don't. For both our sakes, stand 
still and listen."
    "All right, Skellum, all right," Chainer sputtered.
    Skellum's eyes went cold again. " 'Master.' You call me 
'Master.' What do you call me?"
    Chainer was taller than his mentor, but Skellum had a 
way of peering up from the gaps in his hat with his cold, 
angry eyes that was ten times more threatening than sheer 
size.
    "Master. I'm sorry, Master."
    "I'm serious, Chainer. One slip and we both go down. 
Currently, the First thinks very highly of me, and I'd like 
to keep it that way."
    "I understand, Master Skellum."
    Skellum smiled and gave his hat a spin. He stopped it, 
unhooked it, and tucked it under his arm with a flourish.
    "Then let's go."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    They were admitted to the antechamber outside the 
First's study. They were not searched or magically bound 
from doing their host harm, as an outsider would have been. 
There were nonetheless a dozen armed humans and monsters 
standing ready in the First's private chambers.
    The room was dark, lit only by black candles atop tall 
silver poles. The First stood with his arms behind his back 
at the far end of the room, under a massive oil painting of 
himself in formal robes. Four human men and four human 
women in matching blouses moved constantly around him, 
translating his commands and his movements into a 
complicated dance. His attendants were the only ones 
allowed to approach him, and even they maintained a safe 
distance at all times to keep from brushing against him. 
Two of the eight had the outline of a skull etched in bone-
white on the front of their black blouses. The other six 
had a yellow skeletal hand. The First raised his arms high 
and wide, and his attendants spread out beside him, then 
moved forward to interact with his guests.
    "Master Skellum," the First said formally. "Whose 
secret name is Cybariss. Welcome."
    "The Cabal is here, Pater."
    "And everywhere."
    Chainer's life froze when the First turned and met his 
eyes. He had seen the First once before, but he had not 
seen him in such detail or in such raiment. He was dressed 
now in black hide, cured and tanned until it was as stiff 
as glass. His clothing seemed coated in a thin film of oil, 
especially at the elbows and shoulders. In this simple 
businesslike robe, head unadorned, he seemed somehow more 
intimidating than he did in full headdress and regalia.
    "Apprentice Chainer. Whose secret name is Mazeura. 
Welcome." The First was old, but not wizened. His skin was 
gray and smooth as stone.
    Chainer heard a voice from very far away mutter, "The 
Cabal is here, Pater," and then realized it was his own.
    "And everywhere." The First's eyes were milky white, 
but this indicated an increased facility rather than a 
diminished one. It was said that the First could see 
through a person's soul as easily as he could through 
walls. The gray-white orbs darted and focused around the 
room.
    "I understand you have something for me." From the far 
end of the room, the First stretched out his hand, palm up, 
and one of his attendants bearing the skeletal hand 
standard approached Chainer. "I will have it now, Mazeura."
    The attendant's eyes were blank and glassy as the man 
waited to receive Chainer's package. Chainer hesitated only 
long enough to glance at Skellum. He had been determined to 
put the sphere directly into the First's hands, but it 
seemed these people were his hands. Chainer untied the 
drawstring on his satchel and held the sphere at arm's 
length, so that it hovered six inches above his hand. The 
sphere floated from over Chainer's hand to the hand-
attendant's. Numbly, the man turned and carried the sphere 
to the First.
    Chainer did not breathe while the First examined the 
sphere.
    "Remarkable," he said at last. Balancing it over his 
right hand, the First gestured with his left. Two more of 
the hand-attendants came forward, bearing a sturdy black 
box with runes engraved in a band around its lid. The First 
placed the sphere inside the box, closed the lid, and 
muttered a few words. The lock flashed, the seam between 
the lid and the box disappeared, and the attendants carried 
the sealed cube away.
    The First turned to face Chainer. "Remarkable," he 
repeated. He regarded the younger man, a finger tapping his 
upper lip. "You call yourself Chainer."
    "Yes, Pater."
    "Chainer. You have my thanks. Such a treasure, freely 
given. Do you have any idea what it is?"
    "No, Pater."
    The First touched his temple, and one of the skull-
standard attendants stepped forward. "I think I might."
    To the attendant, he said, "Make a note. I want Chainer 
summoned to me again when we've determined exactly what his 
treasure is. I want him to know as soon as we do." The 
attendant nodded, bowed, and stepped back.
    The First glanced over at Skellum, and then stared hard 
at Chainer.
    "I wonder, Chainer," he said, "if you would have beaten 
such a path to my study if you'd known exactly how powerful 
that sphere is. Either you are very loyal or very 
unobservant."
    Chainer felt the back of his neck go cold. "I am your 
obedient child."
    The First stepped behind Chainer, his attendants 
trailing behind him. Some of the guards shifted their 
positions in response to the First's movement.
    "Or maybe," he continued, "you did know how powerful it 
was, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before 
it found its way to me. So you sought my favor by bringing 
it here directly."
    Chainer felt dizzy. He caught Skellum's warning stare 
and choked on silence.
    "Bringing it here directly," the First mused, "and en 
route attacking one of my children, hijacking my 
communications network, and killing an officer of the Order 
to get it here. All this for something whose value you 
could not precisely estimate."
    The First left Chainer shaking and nauseated as he 
glided over to Skellum, surrounded by a silent swarm of 
attendants and guards.
    "Master Skellum. I hope that your apprentice's sphere 
is very valuable indeed. It may have already cost us a 
great deal."
    "In all fairness, Pater," Skellum's voice was as deep 
and as rich as molasses, "it was only an Order officer's 
pet he killed."
    The First scowled. "A pet."
    "Yes, Pater. I may have spoken imprecisely earlier. It 
was not the officer my apprentice killed, but his war 
bird."
    Chainer went freshly cold as the First turned and 
peered at him again. The First glared at him for a moment 
through cloudy eyes, then snapped the fingers on each hand 
twice and reached forward with his right hand toward 
Chainer. All six hand-attendants came forward and ushered 
Chainer forward. He offered no resistance as they led him 
forward, stopping just outside the Cabal lord's reach.
    The First towered over Chainer and took one step 
closer. His voice was calm, barely above a whisper. "You 
know what we do here, apprentice. You are at least familiar 
with how the Cabal operates." Close up, Chainer could feel 
the nauseous aura that surrounded the First. Standing in 
his presence was like standing on the edge of a bottomless 
pit. There was a sick odor about the First, as well. Not a 
foul smell, but the sour waft of ashes from a sickroom 
fireplace.
    "The Cabal, Apprentice." Chainer's eyes darted to 
Skellum, then back to the First. "Tell me now what the 
Cabal does."
    "We survive," Chainer answered immediately. Like every 
Cabal-ist, he had gone through the Cabal's cram 
indoctrination program and knew the routine of call-and-
response by heart.
    The First took another step forward, and Chainer began 
to feel physically ill, and he knew it wasn't just his 
nerves. His throat and nostrils were becoming raw, as if 
he'd been breathing smoke.
    "We survive," the First echoed. "We feed, we gather, we 
absorb." He waited, and Chainer finished the list for him. 
"By the will of the First, we kill."
    "By my will," said the First, "and mine alone. And my 
will is to kill nothing unless there's a long-term benefit. 
The more people there are alive, the more people there are 
in the arenas and gambling houses. The more patrons there 
are for the moneylenders and the flesh mills. We have a 
thousand uses for people when they're alive. We have only 
one or two when they're dead."
    "It was an animal, Pater," Chainer said. "A bird of 
prey on a leash. He ordered it to attack me. I defended 
myself."
    "By my will alone," the First repeated. "And my will in 
all cases having to do with the Order is no killing. I am 
quite comfortable with the current relationship between 
their governing body and ours. They claim to be the law, 
while we are content to be all that is outside the law. 
Even as they recruit and convert warm bodies, our endeavors 
see higher and higher profits. They suppress society's 
truest urges, and we release them. It is a delicate 
situation, one that I spent years creating. Do you 
understand, Apprentice?"
    "Yes, Pater."
    "If there is to be an escalation of hostilities, it 
will be according to my schedule and my agenda."
    "Yes, Pater."
    The First drifted back to his spot under the painting 
at the far end of the room. His attendants silently 
followed.
    Chainer exhaled, drawing fresher air into his lungs. He 
felt stronger with each step the First took away from him.
    "Skellum," the First sounded casual, almost 
conversational, "tells me that at least you didn't waste 
the death."
    "No, Pater. As he taught me, 1 captured the bird's 
essence."
    "Then this has not been a total loss. Chainer."
    "Yes, Pater?"
    "Come here."
    The First spread his arms out in a wide welcome, with 
his attendants keeping three feet of space between 
themselves and his person at all times. Chainer knew 
Skellum would be trying his utmost to will Chainer into a 
state of calm, but Chainer was overwhelmed beyond panic. He 
stood silent and still as a stone. If the First rewarded 
him here and now, or killed him outright, or burned out his 
brain and slapped a hand-standard blouse on his back, he 
didn't think he'd even flinch.
    The sickly odor hit Chainer again as the First brought 
both his arms together in front of him. In response, one of 
the hand-attendants stepped forward. The attendant hugged 
Chainer, fairly lifting him off his feet, then stepped back 
into the ranks. Two other hand attendants urged Chainer to 
his knees, tilted his head, and cupped their hands around 
his ear.
    "I said your sphere was remarkable," the First spoke in 
a conspiratorial stage whisper that was clearly meant for 
Chainer alone. "And so I remark upon it.
    "What you have done is a great service to the Cabal and 
a great honor to me. I offer you my hand in gratitude." One 
of the attendants came forward and held out his hand, palm-
down. Chainer took the hand and pressed it into his 
forehead.
    "You will be fairly rewarded for your services tonight. 
And more, you will be remembered." The attendant pulled his 
hand away, and all of the attendants around Chainer stepped 
back to let him rise. "Go back to your quarters and wait. I 
would speak with Master Skellum about your future. He will 
tell you what we decide. But rest easy on the cushion of a 
job well done, Chainer. I see your future as one of wealth 
and power." The First crossed his arms behind his back, 
signifying that the interview was over.
    A human guard tapped Chainer on the shoulder and 
gestured with his pike.
    "The First is wise," Chainer said. "Long live the 
Cabal," the First replied.
    Chainer was led out, but he saw Skellum smiling. He was 
led all the way out of the building, past the sharp-nailed 
guard and out onto the street.
    When his escorts turned back, Chainer walked on in a 
kind of daze. He touched his dagger, reassured himself that 
his satchel was finally empty, and broke off a three-foot 
length of chain with a whispered word and a shimmer of air. 
He began spinning the truncated chain around his fingers, 
one of the most basic dexterity exercises he knew.
    He felt drained, but his head was still buzzing. He 
couldn't feel his legs, yet knew he could walk for miles. 
He sauntered on, spinning the chain as he strolled, faster 
and faster. He smoothly transferred it from hand to hand as 
he walked, and he realized that he was happier than he'd 
ever been in his life.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    "I think he is ready, Skellum. You may begin."
    "He is ready, Pater. But I would prefer to have another 
few months before-"
    "He is ready, but needs a few more months? Speak 
clearly, Skellum."
    "Pater. He is ready to begin his dementist training. I 
can have him back in the pits in six months."
    The First waited silently, then said, "You are being 
evasive, Skellum, something I taught you. Normally, I would 
be proud. Right now, I want you to get to the point."
    "Sorry, Pater. The point is, he would be going back to 
the pits. The ones who start out in the pits aren't usually 
fit for anything but guard duty or rough muscle. My method 
is to pick out the most promising candidates for my academy 
during the indoctrination cram, and most of them wind up in 
the pits as simple dementia casters. Chainer is capable of 
doing much more for the Cabal. He could be a full-fledged 
dementist."
    "Everything you are saying is known to me, Skellum."
    Skellum nodded. "We are pushing Chainer toward his 
strengths. I'm not questioning that. I am simply wondering 
if we're pushing too fast. Dementia training has snapped 
many a young mind beyond repair. We both have high hopes 
for Chainer. I don't want to lose such a valuable asset 
after investing so much time and effort."
    The First looked mildly amused, something Skellum had 
not seen before. "You make it sound so clinical, Master 
Skellum. Hard facts, hard values. This is your favorite 
pupil we're talking about."
    "Pater. I'm only trying to keep my personal attachment 
to the boy separate from my opinion of his ability."
    "Why would you want to do that? Business is business, 
but then again, family is family." "Yes, Pater."
    "So speak, Skellum. Tell me why you want to wait." "I 
want him to be a dementist, not just a pit caster. You know 
his history, you know his temperament as well as I do. If 
he masters dementia training and returns to the pits, I'm 
afraid he'll become unbalanced. Dangerous to himself. To 
others."
    "You have just described most of our current crop of 
dementia casters and all of the truly great ones. I fail to 
see your concern."
    "Despite what we made him recite, Pater, the Cabal is 
about control. We amass power, and we control it. Chainer 
has the potential to be extremely powerful. That power will 
need to be carefully monitored and molded as it grows."
    "Master Skellum," the First said. "That is exactly what 
I am proposing you and I do for the boy."
    "Yes, Pater." Skellum knew when to abandon a failing 
argument. "Skellum," the First said, "listen to me 
carefully. I am aware of your concerns. I share them. The 
boy is too reactive, like all pit veterans. He assesses a 
threat, and he strikes. They have to be taught how to think 
before they act.
    "But that is what you and I will teach him, my child. 
Imagine the perfect blend of pit fighter, dementist, and 
caster. To have in one man the body of an athlete, the mind 
of an artist, and the instincts of a trained warrior. 
Imagine him as a pit boss, supplying an entire games with 
just the monsters in his mind. Or picture the spectacle 
he'll put on when he enters the pits himself. And if the 
Order declares crusat, and the death squads come calling 
again, imagine how hard he will fight to defend his home 
and family."
    "Pater?" Skellum hesitated, then blurted, "Are the 
death squads forming again? Has Captain Pianna violated the 
arrangement?"
    "No. But her grip on power is not absolute. And none of 
us are immortal." The First smiled patiently.
    "No, Pater."
    "Do not worry, Skellum. Begin the next stage of 
Chainer's training first thing tomorrow. We will not lose 
him.
    "And tonight," he went on, "I want you and him to join 
me in my private box for dinner and the main event." His 
face alive with showmanship, the First's voice rose with 
gentle anticipation. "We're having a quartet of cephalid 
deep-sea warriors fight to the death against four flying 
Nantuko bug people. The Master of the Games is going to 
enchant the arena-cancel gravity-to let them float around 
freely, so they can have a good and proper crack at each 
other."
    "We'll be there by the opening horn, Pater."
    "Outstanding." The First crossed his arms behind his 
back.
    "The First is wise."
    "Long live the Cabal."
    Skellum was escorted from the chamber and went off to 
tell Chainer the news.
 
                       CHAPTER 4
 
    The  southern  capital  of Mer Emperor Aboshan's realm 
lay three hundred miles out from and four miles below Cabal 
City. Built into the luminescent coral at the bottom of an 
undersea canyon, Llawan City had  been  renamed  after  
Aboshan's wife when she retired from public life and took 
up residence there.
    The empress's city consisted of only one actual 
building, but Llawan made it the grandest city ever 
contained in a single structure. The coral reef provided 
both light and natural forms for many of its residents and 
guests to inhabit. Llawan's servants had magically extended 
the natural growth of the coral into an elegant flow of 
knots and bulges that crawled halfway up the canyon walls. 
Her coralsmiths went on to hollow out and buttress the reef 
into a huge, interconnected series of rooms and hallways 
that served simultaneously as fortress, palace, and 
diplomatic retreat. Though any interior room could be 
warded and drained for use by air breathers, cephalids like 
Llawan lived in the submerged chambers constructed on the 
canyon walls. Guests from the surface stayed in the suites 
built specifically for them on the canyon floor.
    Llawan's architects had made full use of the odd space 
in an effort to achieve the sheer scope and scale demanded 
of them. The docks on the rim of the canyon were big enough 
to receive both undersea ships and creatures as large as 
whales. The Imperial Guards' barracks outside the city were 
capable of housing five hundred cephalids who could be 
mobilized for action in mere minutes. For the Empress's 
more diplomatic occasions, the palace could accommodate 
upward of a dozen visiting dignitaries and the formal 
dining room had a seating capacity of over one hundred.
    First daughter of a noble house, Llawan had been part 
of a power-sharing arrangement between Aboshan, her own 
father, and several other high-ranking cephalids. Aboshan 
got the political and military clout he needed to cement 
his position as emperor, Llawan's father got the post of 
Imperial Treasurer, and the nobles got to avoid another 
financially disastrous civil war. Llawan, it was whispered, 
got her city-in-a-palace.
    Tonight, as Llawan swam around her private suite of 
chambers, she smiled. Gossips among her court in the south 
and Aboshan's in the north couldn't help but comment on her 
clear pattern of marriage, retirement, and relocation. The 
rumors describing her as a kept woman in a golden cage 
amused Llawan a great deal, almost as much as the ones 
describing her as a beaten, bitter exile. Indeed, she had 
started both stories to keep her name circulating around 
Aboshan's court, lest she be completely forgotten.
    Llawan was thinking of her husband the emperor as the 
strangers swam off the walls of her private corridor. She 
only thought for a moment, however, before she spun in 
place and jetted back the way she'd come. It didn't really 
matter if Aboshan had sent the three cephalids armed with 
tridents and the huge, yellow shark-man who were now 
pursuing her. What mattered was survival.
    Llawan propelled herself forward on a powerful stream 
of water jetted from her octopod body. Her two forelimbs 
stretched out to pull herself along and to steer, while her 
six secondary limbs trailed out behind her. Her imperial 
crown was both ornament and helmet, protecting her soft 
skull while cleaving the water before her as she swam. Over 
short distances, there weren't many things in the sea 
faster than she was. The shark-man was capable of giving 
her a good chase, but he seemed to be held back by the 
others.
    The corridor was long, however, and every time Llawan 
stopped to draw in more water her pursuers gained on her. 
Two of the cephalids hurled their tridents, and Llawan 
froze while the spears buried themselves in the coral by 
her head. Before she could regain her momentum, the 
unleashed shark surged up and clamped down on one of her 
tentacles with its powerful, jagged teeth.
    Llawan did not cry out. She curled her forelimb around 
the tridents in the coral, and as the huge creature heaved 
its head back Llawan and her weapons were dragged off the 
wall and into the center of the corridor. After a whistled 
command from one of the cephalids, the shark turned Llawan 
loose and began to swim around her in a tight circle.
    "Your empress is under attack," she clicked as loudly 
as she could. "Assassins! Murder!" Then she drove her 
borrowed tridents into the shark-man's vacant, black eyes. 
His shriek of pain vibrated against Llawan's skin as it 
echoed and reechoed off the walls.
    Llawan jetted toward the nearest assassin as the 
blinded brute flailed and roared. Her offensive charge 
surprised her attacker, and Llawan wrapped her forelimbs 
around his soft cephalid skull. She gave the assassin's 
head a mighty squeeze, and he went limp.
    The stunned cephalid floated peacefully in Llawan's 
grip. The final two assassins looked at each other, then 
one loaded his trident into the other's crossbowlike 
launcher.
    The shooter sighted down the center prong of the 
trident, targeting Llawan's head. The empress paused 
momentarily, listening. She could hear her bodyguards and 
the Imperial Guard approaching, and the water around her 
began to whirl and churn. She clicked at the assassins in 
disdain.
    "Too slow, cretins," she said. The whirlpool around her 
solidified into a hard, transparent shell, complete with 
phantom eyes that blinked as the assassin's tridents 
bounced off their surface. Llawan's shield defenders had 
finally arrived. These strange creatures were pledged to 
put themselves between harm and their empress, and they 
were capable of transforming their bodies from flesh to 
water to a substance harder than polar ice. The assassins 
launched a second volley of tridents into the unyielding 
barrier around Llawan, and the empress turned her back on 
them just as a dozen lean, savage bodies exploded out of 
the corridor behind her. The vicious fish tore into the 
cephalid assassin's arm before he could pull the trigger 
again, and the forgotten trident fell straight to the coral 
floor.
    Each of the empress's barracuda was three feet of tooth 
and muscle and killer instinct looking for a target to 
maul. They had been trained to tear huge, bloody scraps off 
of anything that she ordered them to attack or threatened 
her. Llawan watched impassively behind her shield defenders 
as her more aggressive bodyguards reduced the remaining 
assassins to chum and clouds of inky blood.
    The survivor in her tentacle shuddered as he woke. 
Llawan brought him close to her face, with her harp beak a 
short lunge from his eyes.
    "What do you want?" she said. She didn't expect an 
answer from a professional assassin, but if he was a zealot 
or a deluded patriot....
    She shook her captive. Behind her, she could hear the 
palace guard darting up the corridor. Her barracuda 
continued to squabble over scraps of the still-heaving 
shark-man.
    "Answer us."
    The assassin's eyes fluttered. He struggled for focus, 
recognized Llawan, and his face fell.
    "We asked you a question." Llawan tightened her grip. 
"Tell us."
    The assassin sneered. In a series of clicks and calls, 
he said, "You and Laquatus both shall fall." And then he 
flicked his tongue at Llawan in the undersea equivalent of 
a spit in the eye.
    Llawan squeezed his brain again and watched his eyes 
roll back. As the captain of the Guard swam onto the scene, 
she clicked, and the transparent shell in front of her 
dissolved and began to reform itself into her servant's 
bodies. Llawan slung the unconscious assassin at the 
captain of the Guard like a stone.
    "He probably won't say much," Llawan said, "but ask him 
in earnest. Just in case."
    "Empress," the captain struggled to salute and control 
the assassin's limp body simultaneously, "are you all 
right?"
    "We endure. But there will be a serious inquiry into 
this episode. Fools will be punished."
    "Yes, Empress."
    Llawan clicked for her barracuda, and they obediently 
fell in alongside her as she swam for her throne room. Her 
evening's rest was ruined, now that she had business that 
wouldn't wait until morning.
    She maintained whatever power she had by staying on top 
of situations that involved her. Her own subjects were 
trying to kill her, and Ambassador Laquatus had been 
mentioned by name. If Laquatus was involved, Aboshan was 
involved. If Aboshan was involved, she could not miss an 
opportunity to slap him back into line like the egotistical 
child he was. Aboshan and Laquatus had made three attempts 
on her life since her retirement, all of them half-hearted 
affairs like this one. Some husbands send gifts to their 
wives. Hers sent killers. Still, she regarded the attempts 
more as reminders to stay alert and informed rather than 
actual death threats.
    The empress needed more information, and she needed to 
know the extent of Laquatus's involvement. As one of the 
only merfolk on or around Otaria, Laquatus was not tied to 
the empire by family or tradition. Indeed, his human 
features reflected a decidedly human character. He was a 
consummate politician, a notorious opportunist, and 
ambitious to the point of lunacy.
    Llawan needed to talk to someone with a better 
understanding of how he thought.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    The Mer empire encircled the entire continent of Otaria 
and stretched far out into the depths of the ocean. The 
coastal waters around Otaria itself were called the 
shallows, and Director Rillu Veza lived there on the coast 
in an area called Breaker Bay.
    Veza acted on behalf of the empire as combination 
negotiator, harbormaster, and customs inspector for all 
commerce between the Cabal's northern stronghold and the 
empire's southern quarter. It was not a prominent position 
to hold. Most of the trade between Otaria and Mer was 
routed through ports and storage depots further north, 
along shipping lanes that were better protected. In Veza's 
opinion, she had been confined to such a remote weigh 
station for not being a staunch supporter of the emperor's 
faction. She also believed she was in charge of Breaker Bay 
depot because she was qualified to run it. Her comfortable 
bayside cottage with access to the sea and the main road 
into town were proof of the emperor's partial approval. 
After all, he could have put her in charge of a bare piece 
of rock completely off the trade routes and without any 
other inhabitants.
    Veza slept in a sunken tub filled with sea water. This 
morning, she was awakened by an insistent knocking at the 
cottage's front door. She shook drowsiness and salt water 
from her eyes, submerged for one last gulp of gill-filtered 
air, then climbed out of her tub.
    Veza's hair was soft and greenish blue. After a quick 
wringing to squeeze out excess water, she let her unbound 
locks fall down to the small of her back. She grabbed a 
waterproof dressing gown from a hook. Though she was 
covered from head to toe in glistening blue scales, she 
respected the customs of her land-bound clients and wore 
unnecessary clothing whenever she might encounter them.
    She was still adjusting the robe and her dripping hair 
when she got to the door. She opened it and found a small 
human boy looking nervously up at her.
    "Missus Mermaid?" the boy said.
    "Yes." She did not reach out to the boy. He seemed 
spooked enough by her huge black eyes and scaled skin. She 
didn't want to see him panic when confronted by her long, 
webbed fingers.
    "There's a guy waiting for you in the water out there." 
He gestured vaguely to the bay behind him. "A fish guy. He 
says he can't come up on the land."
    "Thank you," Veza said. "Did he say what he'd give you 
if you helped him?"
    "No. He just said I should help him." Veza could see 
that even this scared little boy knew a raw deal when he 
saw it.
    "Well, I think you helped him just right. How would you 
like to swim on my private beach today? If you come back 
after lunch, I'll make sure the groundskeeper lets you in."
    "Thank you," the boy said glumly. Of course, Veza 
thought, he lives on the shore. A swim in the ocean 
probably isn't all that exciting for him.
    Veza took a small notebook and an ornate quill pen from 
the hallway table. "So let's say later today, sometime 
after noon? I'll tell the groundskeeper to expect two of 
you, so you can bring a friend. Oh, and remember, the spell 
only lasts for an hour, so be sure not to get too far from 
shore."
    The boy looked confused. "Spell?"
    Veza smiled. "Yes, the enhancement spell. It wouldn't 
be much fun to swim in the ocean if you couldn't breathe 
and see underwater, now would it?"
    The boy's face lit up. "No, ma'am."
    "After lunch, then."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "And bring a friend."
    "Yes, ma'am." The boy ran happily off, fairly skipping 
back down the road into town.
    Veza put the pad and quill back on the table. There was 
no groundskeeper, so there was no need for a note, but 
there was always a need to keep up the dignity of the 
empire. She would receive the boy and his friend herself, 
show them the sights only visible beneath the bay, and 
introduce them to some of the residents.
    Now, for her other mystery guest. Veza closed the front 
door and backtracked into the cottage. The waters of her 
bay lapped gently against her living room floor, and she 
dropped her robe and dove in. She swam under her own 
floorboards and out into the sea.
    The cephalid male was waiting for her a hundred yards 
from shore. He wore an imperial seal on his skullcap and a 
curved sword in his belt. His limbs twitched impatiently as 
he tread water waiting for Veza.
    "Is that the fastest you can swim, land crawler?" he 
sneered, glancing at her legs. "I've been waiting forever."
    "My door is always open," Veza said coolly. "And I can 
accommodate all callers. If you'd been braver, we could 
have started this discussion when you arrived."
    The cephalid snarled. "It's not my bravery that's 
suspect, it's your loyalty. Last night our empress was 
attacked, and she barely escaped alive."
    "Long live the empress," Veza said automatically. 
Llawan may live in exile, but she was still a member of the 
royal bloodline, and there were formalities to observe. 
"Our lady is well?"
    The cephalid twitched uncomfortably. "She endures. I 
bring an inquiry from her to you."
    "I'm ready to hear it."
    The cephalid arranged his arms around him to float more 
comfortably. "You are Veza, director of this depot?"
    "I am."
    "Her majesty the Empress Llawan wishes to inquire if 
you still maintain the ability to transform between a 
human's legs and a fish's tail."
    Now it was Veza who squirmed. "Yes," she said finally. 
"Tell the empress that I do." Just as long as I have plenty 
of warning and a half-hour to recover, she added privately.
    "Very well." The cephalid took a small crystal gem from 
his courier's pouch. He turned his back on Veza, raised the 
globe over his head, and crushed it in his forelimb.
    A high-pitched whistle blasted out of the gem, and a 
blue-white arc of energy radiated outward, away from the 
shoreline behind them. Veza watched the arc advance, 
growing smaller and fainter until it disappeared entirely.
    The cephalid turned back to her. "The empress will 
contact you shortly." He handed her a small hand mirror 
made of tinted blue glass. "Keep this by your side until 
you hear our lady's voice. She has urgent issues to discuss 
with you." He looked Veza over once more, lingering again 
on her legs. "Do not keep her waiting."
    In a flurry of bubbles and powerful strokes he was 
gone. Before she could stop herself, Veza cursed him out 
loud like the air breathers she spent so much time with. 
Underwater, the effect was minimal and she was instantly 
ashamed of herself for trying.
    Angrily, she kicked her webbed feet and streaked back 
toward her cottage.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Three hours later, Veza sat dozing over a pile of 
paperwork. The seasonal winter storms had not taken the 
expected toll on shipping, but pirate activity was way up 
from last year. As much as the numbers fluctuated on the 
hundreds of reports she reviewed each week, the situation 
in Breaker Bay never really changed.
    From somewhere on her desk, a fanfare of horns began 
playing Llawan's imperial theme.
    "Director Rillu Veza, stand ready," a woman's voice 
sounded over the trumpets. "Your empress awaits."
    Veza shoved the papers out of her lap and picked up the 
mirror. "Long live the empress. I am at her disposal." Veza 
felt a curious detached anxiety as she waited for a reply. 
She was the same age as Llawan and had attended the same 
government career training schools, but they had never 
moved in the same circles. When Aboshan became emperor, 
Veza was packed off to the shallows and Llawan retired. 
Veza had only heard rumors regarding her former classmate 
ever since.
    The trumpet music finished with a flourish, and the 
woman's voice spoke again. "Behold, subject of Mer, your 
Empress Llawan."
    Llawan appeared in the mirror, and Veza bowed her head. 
She wondered again why the empress had reached out so far 
to such a desolate place, and if this latest assassination 
attempt was tied to Breaker Bay.
    "We are the Empress Llawan of Mer." The empress was 
obviously talking into a mirror like Veza's because only a 
small portion of her large face was visible. She seemed 
suspicious of the device and held it at limb's length.
    "Empress," Veza said, "I am Rillu Veza, director of 
Breaker Bay depot, and your humble servant."
    "We understand you are capable of walking on legs." 
Llawan's voice and image dissolved into static as she 
absently shook her mirror. The static cleared and Llawan's 
eye appeared in the glass, filling it from side to side. 
"Well?"
    Veza flushed. "Yes, my empress. That is true."
    "Excellent. Director Veza, you will now scan your 
chamber with the mirror."
    "What? Forgive me, my empress, I could not hear you 
clearly."
    "We do not repeat ourselves."
    Veza hesitated then carefully held the mirror face-out, 
slowly pointing it at every corner of the room. When she 
reached the small interior fountain on the east wall, 
Llawan called out, "Stop." Veza's arms began to tremble 
from holding the awkward position.
    The fountain stream froze in midair and the surface of 
its pool began to glow silver-white. The light was 
reflected in Veza's mirror and she could hear Empress 
Llawan in it, pronouncing the words to a spell Veza didn't 
recognize. A soft, insistent whine rose behind the 
empress's voice.
    With a ripping crack, the surface of the pool became a 
three-dimensional disk of energy. The crest of Empress 
Llawan's skullcap broke the surface of the disk, and her 
large, round head continued to rise through the portal 
until it was physically in the room with Veza.
    The disoriented empress's eyes darted around the room 
until she spotted the bay waters lapping up on Veza's 
living room floor. Llawan threw herself out of the portal 
and into the water with a splash. She rolled over once, 
regaining her bearing and adjusting to the temperature and 
purity of the bay. Veza took one last look at the glowing 
portal in the corner, then joined her empress under the 
waves.
    "Greetings, loyal Veza. We must speak quickly and 
plainly, so listen well. You will contact the Ambassador 
Laquatus on our behalf. From time to time he makes use of a 
mirror similar to the one we gave you. We will provide you 
with the means to access his mirror. Something is stirring 
in the land to the north, Veza, and its effects are being 
felt down below, even in our city. News from the shores and 
shallows rarely filters down that far, which we would now 
remedy. The most recent assassination plot was conceived, 
planned, and launched nearby, where we would not discover 
it.
    "Rest easy," Llawan added, "we know that you are loyal 
to the empire and to us. But there are others to the north 
who are not so reliable. You have heard of Laquatus?"
    "Yes, Empress."
    "You are to learn what the ambassador is doing in Cabal 
City. We would also know how and to whom he is doing it. 
There is no point in trying to keep our interest in this 
from him, but you must disguise your true intent. Lead him 
to believe that we are inspecting the emperor's newly drawn 
trade routes, or that we are in hiding until the threat of 
assassination is removed. I recommend you introduce 
yourself as my agent and then present yourself as a 
disgruntled member of my court, persecuted and ignored as a 
'crawler. That will appeal to Laquatus's pride and also 
give him the illusion of something in you that he can 
exploit."
    Veza swallowed heavily. "Yes, Empress."
    "But you are to use every available method to discover 
what Laqua-tus is up to and how Aboshan is involved. Do you 
understand?"
    "Yes, Empress."
    "No one knows I have come to you, or what I have said. 
If you fail or are found out, you are the only one who will 
suffer."
    "I understand, Empress."
    "Keep us informed. We expect regular communication from 
you from now until we are satisfied with what you 
discover."
    "It will be done, Empress."
    "You will be rewarded for your service, Veza."
    "Thank you, Empress."
    "This audience is over." Llawan held out her forelimb, 
and Veza kissed the tip. Llawan left a small, waterproof 
scroll with her seal on it in Veza's hand. "Read that 
account of recent events before you contact Laquatus. 
Access to his mirror is also inside." Veza nodded and 
tucked the tiny scroll behind her ear. Llawan waved her 
tentacle carelessly over her shoulder.
    "You may conduct us back to our city."
    "Empress." Veza swam up and pulled herself out of the 
bay, standing between the empress and the fountain. The 
empress then shot up out of the water and landed in Veza's 
outstretched arms.
    Llawan's weight and soft body caused her to sprawl in a 
manner most undignified, but Veza averted her eyes and 
gently placed her empress in the portal head-first. Llawan 
disappeared into the portal like a stone down a well, and 
the glowing disk snapped shut behind her.
    "Do not fail us, Veza," said the empress's faint voice 
in the mirror. Then the mirror went dark as well and became 
an ordinary reflective surface.
    Veza went to her personal library to review the 
information on the scroll and anything else she had on 
Ambassador Laquatus. She knew him by his formidable 
reputation, but she needed to know a lot more if she was 
going to determine his motives and report them back to 
Llawan. She had many duties in Breaker Bay, and now she had 
one that was more important than all the rest combined.
    An angry knock sounded at her front door. Veza swore 
softly, startling her own ears. She retrieved her crumpled 
dressing gown from the floor and opened the door. An angry 
human woman stood on Veza's doorstep with the little boy 
who had knocked earlier clenched tight in her fist. *
    "Did you threaten to cast a spell on my son, you 
miserable sea hag?"
    Veza was caught off-guard, but she was becoming sadly 
accustomed to this level of discourse.
    "What? Of course not. He was very polite and helpful to 
a guest of mine, and I promised him a reward."
    The woman glared at Veza suspiciously. "You threatened 
to make him one of you." The boy at her side looked 
completely miserable.
    "I offered to let him swim unencumbered on my private 
beach."
    The human sneered. "Sure you did. Well, thanks but no 
thanks. He won't be coming by here again, and he doesn't 
need your kind of reward."
    "Sorry, lady," the boy muttered, and the human woman 
clipped him across the ear.
    "Shut up," she snapped. She turned and stomped down 
Veza's path, dragging the boy behind her.
    Veza stood in the open doorway for a full minute after 
they'd gone. Then, she shook her head, closed the door 
gently, and went back to her papers.
 
                       CHAPTER 5
 
    The First stood silently in a chamber no one but he and 
his attendants knew about. He was gazing into a detailed 
light   model  of Cabal City and its environs, a perfect 
miniature recreation.  The First used it as an organizing 
tool, one of many   he   employed   to   keep thousands of 
Cabalists   and millions of transactions working smoothly.
    He focused his thoughts on the model and spoke a few 
words under his breath. The background buildings in the 
projection faded slightly, leaving a series of stark, 
colored dots to represent the individuals he was interested 
in following.
    Two small, black dots waited in the proving grounds of 
Skellum's dementist academy, representing Chainer and 
Skellum himself. The
    First noted with some satisfaction that the pair were 
still training hard, even with the progress Chainer had 
already made. The boy was proving to be capable of 
everything the First had in mind for him.
    A small blue dot lurked around the shore just outside 
the city walls, where Ambassador Laquatus connived and 
plotted. The ambassador both interested and amused the 
First. Laquatus may have mastered the shifting tides of 
diplomacy, but his childish self-interest made him woefully 
predictable. Also, the egotistical fool seemed to actually 
think he could keep secrets from the First in the heart of 
the Cabal's biggest city.
    A small cluster of white dots approached from the 
plains beyond the main gate. Lieutenant Kirtar of the Order 
coming to call, or perhaps Captain Pianna herself? 
Whichever of its noble heroes came, Chainer's found 
treasure spelled the end of the Cabal's relative tnice with 
the Order. The First thought of himself primarily as an 
entertainer. While he was pragmatic enough to accept a 
resumption of hostilities, the host in him mourned the loss 
of resources that would be spent on destructive conflict 
rather than constructive spectacle. Finally, and most 
interestingly, a single red dot was heading into his city 
from the Pardic mountains to the southeast. This dot glowed 
brightly when compared to the others. The First commanded 
the finest network of spies and informers on or around 
Otaria, bar none. He knew who this dot was, and what it 
represented to his plans for the Cabal. The First smiled.
    He compared relative distances between the various dots 
and the Cabal City pits. Within a day or two, all of the 
players would be assembled. He touched a smooth, gray 
finger to his temple and a skull-attendant stepped forward 
out of the darkness. "Bring me Skellum and the boy," he 
said. Sometimes, the showman in him thought, the best thing 
to do with something everyone wants is to throw it up in 
the air and yell, "Catch."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    After four months in it, Chainer grew to hate the room 
in Skellum's academy that was designed to recreate the 
pits. It wasn't anywhere near as large and there weren't 
hundreds of bloodthirsty spectators screaming for death and 
carnage, but it was as near-perfect a recreation as 
possible. From the black stone floor to the fixed and 
inextinguishable torches to the spiked wooden barriers that 
protected the crowds, Chainer had to hand it to Skellum: 
the old man had an eye for detail.
    He'd had plenty of opportunity to examine those 
details. For endless weeks now Skellum had filled Chainer's 
days with breathing and meditation techniques, and 
extremely boring speeches about Cabal history and the 
dementists' role in it. After the first week Chainer had 
mouthed off to Skellum about the monotony of the routine. 
Skellum had spun his hat and left Chainer alone in the room 
with a two-headed harpy and a fifty-pound slug that seeped 
acid. Chainer hadn't complained since.
    Today, Chainer perked up because Skellum was carrying 
an eight-inch pewter cage. The cylinder-shaped contraption 
was hinged in the middle and had a thick slot in the top. 
Chainer stared at it hungrily. It was the only new thing he 
had seen in weeks. Maybe Skellum would let him actually do 
something.
    "Big day today," Skellum said. He drew a thick charcoal 
coin and a match out of his satchel. He struck the match 
against his thumb, held it under the coin until the edge 
glowed red, and then dropped the charcoal disk into the 
slot on top of the cage.
    "Here,". Skellum flipped the cage over to Chainer. 
Chainer caught it gingerly and tossed it from hand to hand 
until he was sure it was cool to the touch.
    "Fasten it to your chain and set it on the floor," 
Skellum said. He spread his cape out with both arms and 
gracefully lowered himself into a cross-legged sitting 
position.
    Chainer broke off five feet of chain, held the end near 
to the cylinder-cage, and whispered, "Link." The air 
shimmered, and the pewter cage became attached to his black 
metal chain as if it had been forged there.
    "I've told you about we dementists," Skellum said. "We 
are the First's favorites. We work and sleep in places that 
would reduce lesser beings to babbling hysteria. We walk 
paths that would turn others' feet to ashes. We travel at 
will to the shores of nightmare, and not only do we return, 
but we return bearing captives. The Cabal serves Kuberr for 
a purpose, and no less than the First himself has 
confirmed-the dementists are part of that purpose."
    Chainer shrugged. "Yes. You have told me these things."
    "And I have told you about the paths we walk. How some 
bind their eyes and plug their ears in order to find a 
path. And others go without food, or water, or air until 
their feet find the way. And some turn to drink, or drugs, 
or the hypnotist's candle in order to leave this world 
behind and find the world within."
    "So you have said, Master Skellum."
    "But I haven't told you why I am the master. Why my 
service to the Cabal lies outside the pits. Why I am 
uniquely qualified to help you find your path."
    "There is no need," Chainer said carefully. He watched 
Skellum's impassive face. "You are my master. I am your 
pupil. Lead, and I will follow."
    Skellum smiled, gave his hat a playful spin, and caught 
a gap in front of his face after exactly one revolution. He 
reached into his satchel and took out a dusty red coin as 
thick as a finger.
    "Put this in the censer." He showed the red disc to 
Chainer. "It's Dragon's Blood. Not the actual blood from a 
dragon's veins, mind you, but a resin we call Dragon's 
Blood."
    "Why?"
    "Mostly because it's red and stinky. Here."
    Chainer caught the disc and dropped it into the slot. 
There was a hiss and a sizzle, and then fragrant smoke 
began to pour out between the bars of the pewter cage.
    "Place it on a hot coal," Skellum said, "and it 
produces a strong scent and thick smoke. Quite a lot of 
thick smoke, actually."
    Chainer nodded, but the choking fog from the censer 
stung his eyes and clogged his lungs.
    "Can you still hear me, pupil?" Skellum's voice was 
clear, but Chainer couldn't quite pin down its direction.
    "Yes, Master."
    "Good. Spin the censer around on your chain. I'm about 
six feet away from you at ground level. Be sure not to hit 
me with it. When you've got a clear space around you that 
you can breathe in, say, 'Ready.' In the meantime, I'll 
tell you about Cateran."
    Chainer coughed. "I understand, Master." He picked up 
the censer, tossed it out into space, and started it 
whirling around his head.
    "Cateran," Skellum's voice now echoed out of the smoke 
from about two feet off the ground to Chainer's left, "was 
one of the greats. An extraordinary dementist. Before your 
time, before my time, maybe even before the First's time. 
The Cabal is here, Chainer, and some say it has always 
been. There are many more stories about its early days than 
you or I will ever hear."
    Chainer had the censer spinning easily, and he was 
slowly creating a miniature cyclone of Dragon's Blood smoke 
with himself at the center.
    "I'm still waiting to hear this one."
    Skellum sighed. "Loathsome boy." Chainer spun the 
censer a few more times, then yelped as Skellum hit him on 
the end of his nose with a spare charcoal disc.
    Skellum continued. "Cateran was a summoner. He was so 
good at it that he could threaten you with a monster, and 
make it appear between the letters in the last word he 
spoke."
    "What was he good at? Big, scary things, or lots of 
little sharp things?"
    "Both, and more besides. There's an old legend about 
him going into the pits alone on the eve of no moons and 
not coming out until the next one, a full month later. He 
must have been astounding. An inexhaustible roster of 
ferocity, size, variety, all at a moment's notice."
    "So what happened to this dementist hero? Did he 
finally meet someone better than he was?"
    "Of course not."
    "But that's the rule. That's how it works in the pits."
    "Cateran did not die in the pits." Skellum sounded 
hurt, almost offended. "Some say that Kuberr rewarded him, 
and he now sits by our god's side on a pile of gold and 
silver markers. Others say Kuberr rewarded Cateran with an 
entire world to infiltrate and colonize on behalf of the 
Cabal. And some among us dementists think he became too 
good, that he got so comfortable in his own dementia space 
that he simply forgot to come back."
    "What do you think, Master?" Chainer took a deep 
breath. "I'm also ready, by the way."
    "Excellent." Skellum's voice now came from the floor to 
Chainer's right, but he hadn't heard his mentor move. 
Chainer wondered if the old man had been spinning his hat 
as he spoke. It was possible that Skellum was speaking from 
inside Chainer's head again.
    "I think," Skellum's voice said from directly in front 
of Chainer, "that Cabalists never get to lie around on big 
piles of money, even in paradise. And I think if you gave a 
dementist his own world, he would forget why you gave it to 
him and spend all of his time playing with it."
    Chainer kept spinning the censer and scanning the smoke 
for Skellum. "And what if he's lost in the place that you 
go to find monsters?"
    "That I don't know, Chainer. But together, maybe we can 
find out." Skellum's hand clamped over Chainer's eyes from 
behind and Chainer could feel whispered words hissing in 
his ear. "Let's go look."
    Chainer heard a deafening boom, and he fell forward 
onto his knee. He struggled to keep the censer spinning and 
away from Skellum, but the old man seemed weightless as he 
kept his hand pressed tightly over Chainer's eyes. Angled 
as it was, the swinging censer should have been slamming 
into the stone floor by now, but it continued to spin 
freely.
    "Keep your eyes closed. Stand up straight. Keep the 
censer spinning."
    Chainer straightened his back and got the censer 
realigned. "I'm trying, damn it."
    "Don't talk back. And keep your eyes shut." Skellum's 
hand came away from Chainer's face, and the young pupil did 
as he was told.
    "What do you hear?" Skellum asked.
    Chainer listened. "It sounds like we're outside or in a 
really big room. An empty one. Are we in the pits?"
    "What do you smell?"
    Chainer sniffed. "Dragon's Blood. And . . . dead trees? 
Mulch. Lamp oil. I don't know, a lot of things."
    "What do you see? Keep your eyes closed."
    "How can I-"
    "Shut up, and tell me what you see. Now."
    "We're on the salt flats," Chainer said instantly. 
"It's the dry season, so the ground is hard. There's been a 
fire recently, and all the vegetation is burned and black."
    "What about the sky?"
    "It's about to storm. It's midday, but there's no sun. 
The clouds are thick and heavy and dark. They want to rain. 
They're bursting with it, but they can't. All they can do 
is flash and rumble."
    "Anyone here but us?"
    Chainer focused all of his available senses on the 
space around him. "No one," he said.
    "Keep the censer spinning. Open your eyes."
    The sky was just as Chainer imagined it, but the 
landscape was all gray and jagged stone instead of black 
and ruined marsh. Skellum sat cross-legged on the ground to 
his left. His hat was in motion, but slowing. The spinning 
censer created a ten-foot ring of scented smoke with 
Chainer and Skellum safe in its center.
    Outside the ring were a thousand slavering horrors. 
They crowded and jostled each other for the chance to peer 
directly into the protected circle. They produced an unholy 
chorus of snarls, growls, and shrieks as they jockeyed for 
position. Occasionally, one would lash out at its neighbor, 
and a vicious skirmish would break out, but there were too 
many of them to get a good melee going. Besides, they were 
far too busy drooling and leering at Chainer. They ignored 
Skellum.
    "Welcome. These are my nightmares." Skellum said.
    Chainer cleared his throat. An insectoid whose head was 
all compound eye and razor mandible was eyeing him 
hungrily.
    "I've seen worse," he said.
    "But not all at once," Skellum said. "And not all 
waiting here, just for you."
    Chainer cleared his throat. "Okay. You've got me 
there." He spun the censer, and for the first time wondered 
how much longer he could keep it spinning.
    "Master Skellum?"
    "Yes, Chainer?"
    "Forgive me, but. . . what in the Nine Hells is this 
place?"
    Skellum smiled. "I just told you."
    "But how did we get here?"
    "I come here all the time."
    "Okay. How did I get here?"
    "I brought you. This is why I am Master Skellum. My 
path to this place is slow, but sure. I'm not very good in 
the pits without a partner, because I take too long to get 
going. But the creatures I produce are exceptionally stable 
and strong. And detailed, if I do say so myself. Look, 
there's my grendelkin." Skellum waved playfully at the 
elephantine beast prowling the perimeter of the censer's 
circle. "Also," his voice went serious, "I can take others 
with me when I come here."
    "Other pupils."
    "On occasion. And sometimes, people I just don't like."
    Chainer was scanning the crush of monsters, picking out 
the ones he would most want beside him in the pits and 
least want to fight against.
    "Will I be able to produce such creatures?"
    Skellum laughed. "I expect so. But these are mine, 
created from my memories and my mind. Your dementia space 
is currently empty. Starting tomorrow, we begin to populate 
it."
    "Now," Chainer said. "Take me there now."
    Skellum scowled. "No. Tomorrow. It's dangerous enough 
in here, and I'm standing right next to you. If that chain 
stopped spinning, they'd attack us en masse without 
hesitation. I think I could make it out, but you'd be 
trapped here. Fighting forever in the darkest parts of my 
brain until I called you forth. And even then, you wouldn't 
be you. You'd be a shadow of the Chainer I knew and 
trained, real form without real substance. A puppet to my 
will."
    "Then take me out of your space and into mine. If it's 
empty, it can't be-"
    "Chainer," Skellum said sternly, "no. Trust your 
mentor, boy." He stood up, crouching to avoid the chain 
overhead, and moved behind his pupil. He covered the boy's 
eyes again.
    "Close your eyes," he instructed, "and when I say so, 
start slowing the censer down and drawing it in. Ready?"
    "Ready."
    "Now."
    The boom and the internal wrench were softer on Chainer 
this time. The horror's noises suddenly stopped, and 
Chainer felt the pressure around him change. He knew he was 
back in the pit facsimile inside Skellum's academy.
    Skellum pulled his hand away. "Open your eyes and catch 
the censer." Chainer did, noting that the pewter cage was 
still cool to the touch, and that the smoke had tapered off 
to a few final wisps.
    "Tomorrow," Skellum promised, and he threw his arm up 
and over Chainer's shoulder. Chainer took one step forward, 
and his legs buckled. He felt cold, dizzy, and on the verge 
of vomiting. He fell heavily against Skellum, who laughed 
as he propped his student up.
    "It takes more out of you than you realize," Skellum 
said. "Especially at first." Skellum was physically 
stronger than he looked, Chainer thought, as his mentor 
half-dragged and half-carried him toward the door.
    Before they reached it, someone knocked loudly and 
forcefully. "Master Skellum," a voice called. Skellum stood 
Chainer up and held him there with one hand while he opened 
the door with the other.
    "Yes?"
    One of the First's skull attendants was in the hallway, 
with the woman warrior who had admitted Chainer and Azza to 
the manor four months ago.
    "Hello, Deidre," Skellum said to the woman. "Still on 
house duty, little sister?"
    "Yes, Master Skellum," Deidre said. Then, over his 
shoulder, "Chainer."
    Chainer feebly waved through half-lidded eyes and an 
exhausted smile.
    "The First requires Master Skellum and the pupil 
Chainer in his chambers." The skull attendant's eyes were 
unfocused, and he spoke in a pathetic monotone that 
irritated Chainer. "Immediately."
 
                       CHAPTER 6
 
    Ambassador Laquatus soaked himself in a hot bath. He 
enjoyed the steam and the bubbles, but he always kept one 
eye on the timer next to the tub. Ocean-dwellers like 
himself were built to survive in the extreme cold of deep 
water, but they were not normally required to cope with 
high temperatures. To Laquatus, the sensation of a hot spa 
was worth the risk of being cooked alive if he stayed in 
too long. He prided himself on enjoying as many of the 
surface's unique luxuries as he could, even when they were 
potentially harmful.
    He smiled, and corrected himself: especially when they 
were potentially harmful. In all the depths of the ocean 
and all the nations of the land, he was unique. There were 
no boundaries for one such as he, no limits except for the 
ones he himself imposed. In his legged form, Laquatus 
appeared remarkably human. He was six feet tall and 
handsome, with two small horns at his temples which he had 
capped in silver. He claimed the vestigial horns were a 
sign of his royal blood, as were his very light skin color 
and smooth, almost invisible scale texture. Without his 
ornate robes and his horns, Laquatus could easily pass for 
a normal air breather.
    On a whim, Laquatus switched from his legged form to 
his tailed one in a flurry of arcane blue light and sea 
spray . Now nearly nine feet long, he had to fold his lower 
half back over itself to fit in the spa. He gently flexed 
his muscles, his scales shimmering, and submerged for a 
difficult breath of hot water. Though he spent almost all 
of his time walking and talking with humans, he still 
needed to keep his skin moist at all times and to spend a 
few hours a week in his seagoing form.
    The tub side timer went off. Laquatus shifted back to 
his legged form and signaled for his servants. Two sallow-
faced humans in dreary peasant clothing stepped forward and 
helped him from the tub. One cooled him down with a huge, 
damp, purple towel, and the other draped a robe around the 
ambassador's shoulders.
    "Be gone," Laquatus said, and the humans shuffled out.
    Turg, the ambassador's bodyguard and champion, snored 
loudly on the floor of the next room. The huge amphibian 
had won four straight matches in the pits that afternoon 
and then gorged itself at the post-games banquet. Between 
the mountain of food their Cabal hosts provided and the odd 
body part or two from his opponents, Turg's appetite was 
for once completely sated. Laquatus reached out with his 
mind, confirming that Turg was merely asleep and not 
comatose, and then let the sleeping giant lie. The 
slightest unfamiliar sound or smell, the merest whisper of 
thought from Laquatus, and Turg would be as awake and as 
dangerous as ever. Laquatus had spent years building and 
strengthening the master/thrall relationship with Turg, and 
though the great frog still retained far too much of its 
own primitive drives, it was unquestionably loyal and 
nearly perfect in its obedience.
    Laquatus heard an unfamiliar tone and a strange voice 
calling his name from elsewhere in the room. In a flash, 
Turg responded to Laquatus's confusion and rolled onto his 
huge webbed feet, grumbling angrily. Laquatus waved his 
familiar away and bid him stand ready. He then went looking 
for the source of the sound.
    In a trunk bearing his formal attire, he found the 
imperial mirror Empress Llawan had given him. It played a 
lyrical fanfare to announce the rank and station of whoever 
was using it. For Llawan, it played the imperial theme. For 
Laquatus, it used a piece he himself had written. For this 
mysterious new person, it played a fairly unimpressive 
flute aria.
    ". . . for Ambassador Laquatus. This is Rillu Veza, 
Director of the Breaker Bay depot for Ambassador Laquatus. 
Are you there, Ambassador?"
    "This is Laquatus," the ambassador spoke from several 
feet back, the mirror still hidden inside the trunk. It was 
a woman's voice, he noted. "And this is a private channel. 
Do not contact me again."
    "Ambassador? I have information, and a request, from 
Empress Llawan."
    Laquatus paused. Of course. If someone new was using 
Llawan's mirror, the empress must have given them 
instructions to do so.
    "How do I know Llawan sent you?" Laquatus took off his 
purple robe and rooted around in his wardrobe for a finer 
one. Turg menacingly sniffed the trunk with the mirror in 
it, and Laquatus brought him to heel with a thought.
    "Our lady gave me the access to your mirror, 
Ambassador." Veza said. "She is currently in hiding after 
another assassination attempt and has asked me to contact 
you on her behalf. Will you speak to me?"
    Laquatus checked his reflection in the full-length 
mirror. He polished a spot of condensation off his silver 
horn cap, wrapped the
    final yard of blue silk around his waist, and tied it 
tight. Then he picked up the mirror.
    "Assassination attempt?" he said urgently. "Is the 
empress all right?" In the mirror, Veza of Breaker Bay 
jumped at his sudden appearance.
    "Yes, Ambassador. She endures. But she is very, very 
concerned."
    She ought to be, Laquatus thought. He had spent a lot 
of Aboshan's money to hire the assassins, though in truth 
they were hired to disfigure Llawan rather than kill her. 
Laquatus found the empress too useful to discard just yet, 
but he also wanted her frightened and focused on Aboshan.
    Veza was pretty, Laquatus thought, but not beautiful. 
She was an unknown quantity, however, and therefore 
interesting. Too far away to affect her thoughts, too 
unfamiliar to gauge her intent. Laquatus sniffed. Llawan 
must be desperate if she were reaching out to low-level 
functionaries to do her spying for her.
    "Who were the assassins? Did any of them escape?" 
Laquatus hoped they hadn't. Survivors would want to be paid 
the balance of the fee.
    "No. The empress's guard protected her." Veza's face 
clouded. "She is concerned about events on Otaria, however. 
Aboshan's new shipping lanes have not been well received by 
all. There are those in the depths and especially on the 
surface who feel cheated, and Llawan fears that she is 
being made a target for their frustration with the empire 
as a whole." The scenery behind Veza rolled dizzily as she 
sat with the mirror in hand. "I've received a number of 
complaints even here in Breaker Bay."
    "Really." Veza was distracted and rooting for 
paperwork, so Laquatus was free to stare fixedly at her. "I 
was just discussing the shipping lanes with a syndicate of 
Cabal merchants. I have made great progress on behalf of 
the empire in the houses of both Cabal and Order. It would 
be a crime if my work on behalf of the empire was undone by 
a violent splinter group of intolerant cephalids at home."
    "Of course, Ambassador. It is precisely that kind of 
effort that Llawan needs."
    Laquatus's mind raced. She had just sat down-from a 
standing position! Veza had suddenly become far more 
interesting to him.
    "Director," Laquatus said, "allow me to congratulate 
you."
    "Ambassador?"
    "I know how hard it is for a non-cephalid to achieve 
any sort of advancement in Mer. They are an old-fashioned 
people, not given easily to change. You must be extremely 
adept at your position."
    Veza blinked. "Thank you, Ambassador. But I-"
    "I think we should meet in person, my dear. There is 
much we have to discuss, for the good of the empire."
    "Of course, Ambassador. When can we-"
    "I am always at the empress's service." He glanced at 
Turg. Growl, he thought.
    Turg let out a loud, rumbling half-roar that caused 
Laquatus to wince.
    "Excuse me, Director, but I have an appointment 
scheduled, and my guest has just arrived. Please excuse 
this humble diplomat. By my oath, I will contact you as 
soon as 1 have arranged for our meeting."
    For the first time since he picked up the mirror, 
Veza's expression was less than polite. She seemed to be 
peering at him as if seeing him clearly for the first time, 
sizing him up as a potential ally or opponent.
    "Thank you, Ambassador.
    "Thank you, Director."
    "I hope I can count on you to assist me. We are both in 
a unique position to help the empress, the empire, and 
ourselves."
    "Nothing would please me more. I will make some 
inquiries and arrange for a time and place to share my 
findings with you." Provided, of course, Laquatus thought, 
that it serves my needs, and I
    haven't had you or the empress killed by then. "As I 
said before, for the good of the empire."
    "Long live the empire. I will await your notice, 
Ambassador. I can be reached any time, day or night, on 
this mirror."
    "Very well. I, on the other hand, will not be 
available. I will have to contact you. It could be a matter 
of hours, or a matter of days. But I will contact you."
    Veza scowled. "Agreed. Until then, Ambassador, you have 
my thanks and those of the empress."
    "Long live the empire," Laquatus said. He touched a gem 
on the mirror's handle, and the vision went blank. Turg 
belched loudly, and Laquatus muttered, "Go back to sleep," 
so the great frog rolled happily back onto its side.
    Laquatus put the mirror back into the trunk and locked 
it up tight. He could sort out where to have a clandestine 
meeting with Veza and what kind of misinformation to feed 
the empress later. As intrigued as he was with the sight of 
another merfolk like himself, right now he needed to check 
in with his Cabal hosts and arrange for a meeting with the 
First.
    Laquatus's spies in the Cabal had told him that an 
artifact of immense power had been recovered and brought 
safely into the city. Laquatus had felt the presence of the 
artifact himself, but he had not been able to determine 
what, or exactly where, it was. According to his sources in 
the Order, however, high-level adepts of every description 
were honing in on the artifact like sharks on a bleeding 
fish.
    Laquatus felt an opportunity growing and was determined 
to make the most of it. Powerful, functioning artifacts 
were nearly impossible to come by these days, and if this 
one was as impressive as it seemed, then Laquatus would 
claim it in Aboshan's name. The emperor would use it to 
solidify his grip on both the seas around Otaria and the 
continent itself. In turn, Laquatus would also use the 
artifact to strengthen his hold on Aboshan. He would 
continue as
    he had for the past several years, supplanting the 
churlish emperor one step at a time, bit by bit, until 
there would be no more need for Aboshan, his exiled wife, 
or any of her prying, spying, low-level functionaries.
    Laquatus stripped off the blue silken robe and began 
rooting around for something more dazzling. He would 
request an audience with the First, check on his hidden 
troops in the sea caves, and put Turg through his paces in 
the pits. Before he went to sleep that night, he intended 
to have seen the mysterious device with his own eyes.
    He knew that once he had seen it and determined how to 
make use of it, there was nothing on land or in the seas 
that could stop him from acquiring it.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer and Skellum were admitted to the First's study 
without fanfare. Deidre led them through the door, then 
began to skulk along the walls and shadows with the rest of 
the First's armed guards. The skull attendant returned to 
his post at the First's side. Master and pupil both waited 
for the First to hail them, but he simply stood staring at 
the pair calmly with his arms behind his back.
    "It is called the 'Mirari,' " the First said calmly. He 
stepped aside and presented the treasure to them with a 
wave of his robed arm. The First had Chainer's sphere set 
floating above a polished rune-silver base, which was in 
turn set into a small wooden stand. The entire apparatus 
was enclosed in a clear glass cover that fit snugly onto 
the stand. Lit by torches, the Mirari seemed to be floating 
above a floating stand inside a floating glass bubble.
    "Quite astonishing, Pater."
    Chainer simply gaped. "Mirari?" he said.
    "Mirari," the First confirmed. "It's an ancient word 
for a fantastic wish-granting artifact."
    Skellum stroked his thin beard. "Simply astonishing."
    "So it grants wishes?" Chainer couldn't quite pin down 
why that disappointed him. Perhaps because his vision had 
seemed so much grander than even his wildest dreams.
    "It might," the First said. "Among other things. We 
haven't had enough time to fully determine all its uses, 
but simply possessing it has given me a clearer mind and 
more energy than I've had in years. I'm almost aglow with 
good ideas lately.
    "Even as we speak, mages are on their way here to find 
out what I have. I can feel them coming like moths flitting 
above a spider's web. They don't even know what it is, yet 
they want it. It is part of this object's nature. They 
simply can't help but want it.
    "But you," he said to Chainer. "You found it, and you 
brought it here. You put thoughts of the Cabal and of your 
First before thoughts of yourself. I must ask you to do so 
again."
    "We are yours to command, Pater," Skellum said.
    "I am speaking to Chainer." The First came within a 
foot of Chainer and looked down into his eyes.
    Chainer fought the weakness in his legs, redoubled by 
the proximity of the First. "I am your obedient child," he 
said.
    "My son." The First stepped back and gazed into the 
Mirari. "Tomorrow, the three-day lunar games begin. The 
Mirari shall be in the prize cache."
    "Pater?" Skellum jumped in to prevent Chainer from 
doing so, but the young man simply stared calmly at the 
First.
    "Yes, Master Skellum?"
    Still covering for Chainer, Skellum said, "Your wisdom 
is unquestioned. But my ignorance is vast. . . . What is 
the advantage of offering the device up to chance before we 
know what it can do?"
    The First stared stonily at Skellum for a long moment. 
Then he smiled humorlessly. "You are young, Master Skellum, 
and impatient. I have led the Cabal for a very long time, 
and served it even longer. I have seen into the hearts of 
men, and I have owned items of power. And I say the quest 
for this thing, this Mirari, will destroy many who seek its 
power. When their schemes are all spent and they themselves 
lie undone, the Cabal will be there to claim the prize once 
more." He crossed his arms in front, and his attendants 
knelt in readiness beside him. "Master Skellum, Apprentice 
Chainer, believe in your First. Right now there is no one 
on Otaria who can control the Mirari. But in time it will 
show us the mettle of our rivals and distinguish the smart 
and the strong among them from the stupid and the dead. By 
then, I will be ready to use it for the glory of the Cabal, 
and there will be no one left to interfere."
    "Truly, you are wise, Pater." Skellum said. "Isn't he 
wise, Chainer."
    "The First is wise," Chainer agreed dully.
    "Outstanding. There is one more thing, before I dismiss 
you."
    "We stand ready, Pater."
    "Tomorrow, a warrior from the mountains will arrive in 
the pits. He is known to the Cabalists there by reputation 
and by first-hand observation. They say he is quite 
ferocious, a champion among his own violent people. He is 
here undoubtedly seeking the Mirari. Of all those who are 
coming for it, I think he may have the single best chance 
of winning it."
    "Is he that good, Pater?" Chainer asked.
    "He is easily capable of earning the right to choose 
his prize through combat. He is also uncharacteristically 
intelligent for his kind and may recognize the Mirari's 
value among the rest of the dross. I want you," he said to 
Chainer, "to guide him through the competition."
    Chainer choked. "What?"
    "Introduce yourself. Help him get his bearings. Offer 
him some tips. I would rather he be an ally than an enemy. 
Besides, if he wins it in the pits, he'll lose it in the 
pits. In this, barbarians are exactly like the hollow-eyed 
gambling addicts in the casino. They have to take one more 
risk. Eventually, the house always wins."
    The First regarded Skellum for a moment, then turned 
back to Chainer. "I also want you to find out about him. 
Learn the measure of him. If he is a strong man, we would 
work with his strength, so that both he and the Cabal 
profit. If he is a coward or a fool, note exactly how, so 
that we can use it against him when the time comes. You are 
to study him, as you would study one of Master Skellum's 
lessons."
    The First's voice dropped. "Learn from this barbarian, 
Chainer. They look at things differently than we do. I know 
you're eager to fight once more on behalf of the Cabal. 
Look on this assignment as a gradual reintroduction to the 
pits. Watch this barbarian, study him, learn from him. 
Whether he wins or loses, gain from him."
    Chainer nodded. "I will do as you ask, Pater."
    "Master Skellum," the First said. "I have a special 
assignment for Chainer during this weekend's games. You 
will suspend your lessons starting two days from now and 
resume them after the games are over. During that time, he 
will be under my instruction."
    "By your will, Pater." Skellum said. Chainer thought 
Skellum sounded grim, almost hurt. "We will make full use 
of the time we have. I would like to start as soon as 
possible."
    "Of course, of course. Chainer, report to my reception 
desk in two days, an hour before the first horn sounds."
    "By your will, Pater." The First crossed his arms 
behind his back, and Chainer and Skellum bowed out.
    In the hallway, Skellum was angrier than Chainer had 
ever seen.
    "He knew this would disrupt my regimen," Skellum 
hissed. "I've warned him about the danger, but he insists 
on meddling. ..."
    "Skellum, cut it out," Chainer said nervously. "It's 
not so bad. I'll follow a barbarian around and see how 
things are these days in the pits. Maybe he'll get killed 
in the first bout, and my special assignment will get cut 
short."
    "We should be so lucky," Skellum said, and grimaced. 
"I'm sure he's a very nice barbarian, but still. . . ." 
Chainer choked to keep from laughing in his mentor's face.
    "You shut it," Skellum said, but his rage was 
mellowing. "I'll be frank with you Chainer, this dementia 
training I'm guiding you through can really scramble your 
brains. A few of my ex-students are in there," he gestured 
back over his shoulder, "attending the First. And they 
don't have skulls etched on their shirts, either. Brains 
non-functional."
    "Well, then, I shouldn't have any trouble. The way you 
talk, I'm like that now."
    "You haven't heard me talk yet, little brother," 
Skellum flicked Chainer's ear maliciously. "I wouldn't let 
you speak to a brain-dead flunky, much less become one. 
They're too good for you. Too efficient and tidy."
    Chainer laughed and ducked another of Skellum's flicks.
    "Ahh, to nine hells with you," Skellum said. "The First 
will have his way, and it will work out for the best, and 
you'll laugh at me all the while for being concerned. But 
do me one favor, my pupil."
    "Anything, Master."
    Skellum spun his hat and caught it with a gap in front 
of his face.
    "Watch and learn. Do not go into the pits. Don't pick 
or accept a quarrel so you can go into the pits. And don't 
burn any Dragon's Blood without me." Chainer didn't answer 
right away, and Skellum glared at him. "Do you understand?"
    Chainer wrinkled his nose. "Okay. But I want you to 
show me more before the games start."
    Skellum nodded. "A lot more. More smoke, more spinning, 
more meditation. Starting right now."
    Chainer tried to hide the secret thrill that ran up his 
spine. He could feel a whole horde of formidable pit 
fighters in his mind, just waiting for him to give them 
form. It would surely be worth a few days as the First's 
spy in order to stand at Skellum's side as a dementist in 
service to the Cabal. It was one more step toward the 
destiny that had been promised to him by the Mirari.
 
                       CHAPTER 7
 
    Chainer watched the big barbarian, Kamahl,     come     
through     the entrance gate. He was some kind of local 
hero among the tribes who lived high up in the mountains. 
Chainer had heard the upper reaches of the Pardic mountains   
were   thick   with dwarves, but the big, bald barbarian  
towered  over even the half-troll door guard.
    The pit fighter in Chainer quickly surveyed the 
potential challenge. Kamahl had several ragged scars along 
his shoulders and chest, where the skin hadn't so much 
healed as it had closed and then puckered like wet leather. 
Chainer watched him stalk his way through the crowd, 
maneuvering his heavy weaponry around others' like an 
expert. He wasn't sure what to make of the warrior, but 
Chainer quickly determined to never take him lightly.
    He miserably patted his hip, where his black chain 
should have been, and his shoulder, which should have held 
a holstered knuckle dagger. The First had sent word early 
this morning via messenger. As his personal representative, 
Chainer was obliged to leave his fighting weapons in 
Skellum's care. The First did not wish to antagonize his 
guest, Kamahl the barbarian, and so Chainer was to leave 
his chain and his dagger behind as a gesture of 
hospitality. The note came with a long, ceremonial dagger 
for Chainer to wear on his hip. It was traditional, the 
note said.
    Chainer pointed out to Skellum that in addition to 
being ceremonial, the dagger was also too heavy, had runes 
carved clean through its blade, and was entirely useless 
for anything but stirring gruel. The First had not offered 
any alternatives, however, and Chainer put on the dagger.
    So here he was, representing the First and the Cabal 
without his weapons and without any coherent instructions. 
As far as he understood, he was supposed to linger around 
Kamahl and make sure that the big hunk of meat didn't get 
lost on his way to winning the Mirari and taking it away 
with him.
    Chainer watched Kamahl a few moments as the barbarian 
took in one of the preliminary bouts. He was clearly not 
impressed, and Chainer couldn't blame him. The Master of 
the Games was either slipping, or he had been ordered to 
put on a dreary show. There was no other way such a clown 
act would be allowed to continue. As the First's 
representative, Chainer thought, I should step in here. I 
should steer the mighty muscle head away from the cheap 
seats and help him find the Master of the Games.
    "My job reeks," Chainer said out loud, but he 
approached the barbarian, stepping up to him just as the 
larger man was shaking his head.
    "Don't give up hope just yet, sir," Chainer tried to 
sound helpful, like one of the shills who roamed the casino 
floor.
    The barbarian looked Chainer over, much as Chainer had 
gauged Kamahl moments ago. He didn't seem to like what he 
saw.
    "The name is Chainer." He offered his hand. He motioned 
his head toward the awkward show in the nearby pit, "The 
pair are partners against Lieutenant Kirtar." Chainer 
wrinkled his nose. "A champion from the northern Order."
    The barbarian brightened a little. Of course, Chainer 
thought. A wild warrior from the mountains would certainly 
share Chainer's dislike of the Order.
    "Kamahl, here to win the tournament."
    Chainer raised an eyebrow, but once more reminded 
himself that this was his mission. "You'll want to see the 
Master of the Games, then."
    Chainer exhaled and began to relax. Perhaps this 
wouldn't be so terrible after all. He led Kamahl to the 
Master of the Games through an admittedly confusing sprawl 
of practice pits, betting circles, impromptu grudge 
matches, and gawking yokels. He played tour guide by 
pointing out the Mer Ambassador Laquatus, who got an 
excellent barbarian grunt of disapproval, and Laquatus's 
bodyguard Turg. Kamahl looked at the big amphibian warily, 
but his face betrayed none of his thoughts.
    They paused to watch the end of the embarrassment that 
was Kirtar's match, then Chainer brought Kamahl to the 
Master of the Games. The master winked at Chainer and 
started giving Kamahl a hard time about letting the 
barbarian into the tournament. Kamahl didn't seem to notice 
he was being slighted. He was too busy staring at the 
Mirari.
    The Master of the Games reminded Chainer of Roup: 
thick, stupid, and clumsy. He didn't know if the master's 
wink had been a signal of the assumed camaraderie between 
Cabalists, or if it meant the master was hassling Kamahl on 
the First's order, just as Chainer was accompanying him 
around the games. He didn't like it in either case.
    Much to Chainer's delight, Kamahl didn't like the 
master's attitude either. In fact, he didn't like it so 
much that he casually tossed what appeared to be a red-hot 
copper coin through a nearby wall with the force of an 
exploding cannonball.
    Chainer laughed at the master's bewildered face as the 
rubble smoked and the dust settled. Kamahl smiled 
mischievously at him.
    This, Chainer said to himself, will definitely be more 
fun than I thought. His excitement cooled as Kamahl 
advanced on him.
    "Look," the barbarian said, "what do you want? I 
appreciate your help, but I'm busy, and I don't need a 
sidekick."
    Chainer darkened. "Then it's just as well that you 
don't have one. I'm here on business."
    "We don't have any business. We just met."
    Chainer took a breath. "My friend, I have to admit, I 
don't understand the point of this any more than you do. 
But this is Cabal City, and things happen for a reason 
here. I can at least explain that."
    "Okay, Cabalist. Explain."
    "Do you have tribal elders up in Pardic?"
    "Elders? Sure."
    "And do you obey them?"
    Kamahl laughed harshly. "Only when it suits us, and 
only when they're right." He shrugged. "Sometimes not even 
then."
    "We revere our elders here. We've all sworn oaths to 
obey our superior Cabalists. And the First himself, the 
lord and master of the entire Cabal, wishes me to learn 
from you. I intend to respect his wishes."
    "I don't want a student."
    "And I've already got a mentor. I was hoping we could 
teach each other something. As if we'd been randomly 
assigned as pit partners." Chainer locked eyes with Kamahl. 
"I can help you."
    Kamahl crossed his arms. "Go ahead then."
    "How much are you paying for your lodgings?"
    "Fifteen silver a night, but I'm only here for two 
nights, for the games."
    "You're being robbed. There are warrior's quarters 
right outside the arena that only charge five. I can take 
you there."
    Kamahl considered. "All right," he said finally. "You 
saved me twenty silver. Now what-"
    "Eighteen," Chainer corrected. "Finder's fee is two 
percent."
    "I knew it," Kamahl growled. "There's always an angle 
with you Cabalists." He turned to go.
    "Do you know how to bet on yourself?" Chainer said 
quickly. Kamahl stopped. "Do you know who to ask politely, 
and who to threaten? Do you understand that the Master of 
the Games has put you on the slow track because of your 
stunt with the coin back there?"
    Kamahl grunted angrily. "I don't understand half of 
what you just said."
    Chainer smiled. "Then I've made my point."
    "All that stuff," Kamahl shook his head, "betting, 
bragging, working the pairings. It's dreck. A warrior's 
skill determines victory."
    "In the pits," Chainer said. "But you're in the City 
now. The pits are the least of your worries."
    Kamahl glared at Chainer, then back at the Master of 
the Games' station. Slowly, he said. "All right, Chainer. 
What is a 'slow track?' "
    "Always remind yourself that this is a business. The 
Master of the Games is responsible for getting the most out 
of the contestants. Did you bribe him at all?"
    "I paid a lump of gold to get in the gates."
    "That goes to the gatekeepers. Did you pay the Master 
of the Games anything?"
    Kamahl chuckled. "Just that coin."
    "Then he's got to make his money off you some other 
way. Most likely he'll put you in as many preliminary bouts 
as he can, against opponents that are no real challenge. 
He's got to display you, keep you working in front of the 
crowds, just to break even on your entrance fee. He's going 
to work you like an animal."
    "And how," Kamahl's voice was low and menacing, "do I 
get on the fast track?"
    "You need to pay proper respect to the master. Twenty-
five silver should do it. How much tender have you got?"
    "Ten gold," Kamahl said immediately.
    "Sshhh!" Chainer hissed. He looked around nervously. 
"That was a joke. Never answer that question around here."
    "What? No one is going to take my money from me without 
a fight. No one would dare."
    "Sure they would. I know pickpockets who could steal 
the blade off your sword while it was still in the 
scabbard. If I can't teach you anything else, I can at 
least teach you one thing. Never announce how much you're 
carrying in this city." Chainer worked his fingers as he 
calculated. "Ten gold is about fifty silver. Twenty-five to 
the Master, ten for your lodgings... You won't have much 
left for food and frolic."
    "Food, I need. Frolic, not so much."
    "Okay. The first thing we do after bribing the Master," 
Chainer said, "is bet. We'll get the best odds on your 
first fight, because you're an unknown. If we get you on 
the fast track, the odds get even better. Have you spoken 
to a fixer?"
    "No."
    "We'll do that next. Fixers set odds, take bets, and 
schedule matches. They make all the arrangements for 
civilians like you who want to do business with the Cabal."
    "I'm not a civilian, I'm a warrior."
    "In this town, you're either Cabal, Order, or a 
civilian. Come on. I did a little checking, and there's a 
match that you can help me handicap. And I can help you 
make some money."
    Kamahl finally looked interested. "What kind of match?"
    "Vampire against lavamancer. You know about 
lavamancers?" "Yes."
    "And I know about vampires. Between the two of us, 
we've got all the angles covered."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    The stadium was divided into numerous circles, with the 
largest and innermost set aside for main events. It was 
surrounded by rows and rows of seats, and a dozen circular 
platforms floated silently above the arena floor, giving 
the important and the wealthy the best possible view. 
Chainer led Kamahl to the center pit and pointed out a 
fixer who was busily taking bets.
    "He'll do. What I don't understand," Chainer said to 
Kamahl, "is how anyone who bets on the lavamancer thinks 
they're going to get their money back. The odds are good, 
but this is a vampire. And not just any vampire, it's a 
Sengir vampire." Chainer pointed to the huge, bald, manlike 
creature standing in the center of the pit. Its eyes were 
black and lifeless, and its teeth jutted out from between 
its lips. All of the teeth, not just the canines, were 
twisted and pointed like thorns, and the Sengir's filthy 
nails hung past its fingertips like talons. It sniffed the 
air like a wild dog, head darting as it oriented on each 
new scent, and it hissed at the crowd. Across the pit stood 
a dark-skinned human in tanned animal hides. His hair was 
loose and wild, and he carried a short sword.
    Kamahl regarded the toothy brute and then continued to 
scan the entire arena, drinking it all in. "What's a 
Sengir?"
    "Ancient vampire lord," Chainer said. "Possibly a myth. 
Some vampires prey on villages, some on cities. They say 
Sengir preyed on entire continents."
    "And you've got an ancient vampire in the pit for the 
opening bout?"
    "Not Sengir himself. One of his minions."
    "Bet on the lavamancer," Kamahl said. "Bet it all."
    "You that sure?"
    "I am. Vampires burn, don't they?"
    "Some do. If you can hold them still long enough to set 
them on fire." Chainer pointed at the vampire's opponent. 
"So, lavamancers. Work with lava, do they? Flames and smoke 
and all that?"
    "Yeah. But lavamancer is a title, like champion or 
wizard. I say bet on him."
    "It's your money." Chainer held out his hand, and 
Kamahl stared at it. "You're learning," Chainer laughed. He 
led Kamahl over to the fixer, showed him how to place a 
bet, and then the two settled on the rail to watch the 
bout.
    A horn sounded, and Chainer said, "That's the prep 
horn. It means the match is about to start, and the 
fighters have fifteen seconds to prepare."
    The lavamancer knelt and touched the arena floor, 
mouthing a silent incantation. The Sengir vampire continued 
to look around the arena and hiss at the audience. When the 
starting horn sounded, the vampire suddenly became much 
more focused on his opponent. Its eyes narrowed as it 
crouched and began stalking the lavamancer. Its pointed 
tongue lapped hungrily around his lips. The lavamancer 
stood his ground, still mouthing words that no one could 
hear.
    The vampire suddenly charged, and the lavamancer 
pointed his sword and released a red-hot ball of magma and 
ash from its tip. The vampire caught the missile full in 
the chest, and for a moment its entire body was engulfed in 
flames and smoke.
    The crowd's cheer became a collective gasp as the 
flaming vampire leaped into the air, soaring high over the 
arena floor. It swooped and dove, moving fast enough to 
extinguish the flames that were consuming its ragged robes.
    Chainer leaned over to Kamahl and said, "Did you know 
they could fly?"
    "No," Kamahl was impassive. "I assume they still drink 
blood?"
    Before Chainer could answer, the blackened vampire 
screeched and dropped down on the lavamancer. The Sengir 
was so much bigger and broader than its wild-haired 
opponent that he seemed to swallow the lavamancer up whole. 
They grappled and rolled across the arena floor until the 
vampire pinned the lavamancer's arms and sank its sharp, 
twisted teeth into the man's neck.
    "One less lavamancer, one more Sengir," Chainer said. 
"Sorry, Kamahl, but this match is all but over."
    "Agreed." Kamahl said. But in the pit, it was the 
Sengir who shuddered and thrashed, not the human in its 
grip. With a roar, the vampire cast its intended victim 
aside and fell back, clutching at its face in agony. Flames 
poured from between its lips, and its lower jaw seemed to 
be melting.
    "Earth is the body, and lava is the blood," Kamahl 
said. "Lava-mancers believe that utterly. In mastering 
their craft, they embody that belief."
    The lavamancer's blood, red hot and steaming, continued 
to jet from the wound in his neck. While the vampire 
flailed, the lavamancer clapped a glowing hand over his 
wound and seared it shut. He drove the tip of his sword 
into the floor, raised his arms, and completed his 
incantation.
    A huge gout of molten rock exploded from the ground 
beneath his sword. The stream arced up and onto the 
vampire, totally covering him in thick, clinging lava. The 
outer layer of the covering quickly cooled and hardened, 
but the vampire continued to move. Step by agonizing step, 
it came closer to the lavamancer. The dark skinned man 
calmly let the Sengir approach, and when it was close 
enough, he struck its head from its body with a short, 
straight slash of his sword.
    The Sengir's stone-encrusted head and carcass both fell 
and melted into ash. The lavamancer raised his arms in 
victory, and the crowd shook the walls with its cheering.
    Chainer bowed to Kamahl. "I stand corrected." He stood 
straight and clapped the barbarian on the shoulder. "And 
you stand enriched. The odds were five to one against the 
lavamancer. You just made enough to live like a king for at 
least a week."
    Kamahl smiled. "One less thing to worry about, that's 
all. I'm more concerned with winning my own matches."
    "Good point, good point. When's your first bout?"
    "Just before the lunch break."
    "Well, then, we'd better get you where you need to be. 
If you're as good a fighter as you are a handicapper, you 
might actually make good on that boast to win the tourney."
 
                       CHAPTER 8
 
    "Ambassador," the human servant   said,   "Director  
Veza  has arrived."
    Veza caught Laquatus checking his reflection in a wall 
mirror as she entered the room. He was dressed in splendid 
robes, and he was taller than he appeared in Llawan's 
mirror. A huge, amphibious   monstrosity   sat sullenly on 
the floor, its feral glare fixed on Veza. The rest of the 
huge room was taken up by a green marble swimming pool, 
complete with fountain.
    "Ambassador Laquatus." "Veza,"  he  said  brightly. 
"Long live the empire." Laquatus came across the room and 
warmly kissed Veza's hand. "Servants!" He clapped. 
"Refreshments for our guest." The dull-eyed butler shambled 
out of the room.
    "Thank you, Ambassador." She eyed the beast on the 
floor and said, "May I ask . . ."
    "That is Turg, my bodyguard and champion. I'm afraid a 
man in my position cannot afford to take chances. 
Particularly this close to Cabal City." He leaned forward 
and whispered, "They're all a band of cutthroats and 
criminals. Without Turg by my side, I'd be afraid to leave 
the embassy." Turg made a grumbling noise in the back of 
his throat to punctuate Laquatus's comment.
    "I've dealt with Cabalists myself," Veza said. "I 
understand your caution."
    Laquatus had not released her and was staring at her 
intently. Veza gently pried her hand away. "Forgive my 
manners, Ambassador, but my time is limited. You said you 
had something to tell me?"
    Laquatus smiled. "Of course. But first ..." A servant 
bearing a bottle of sparkling wine and two ornate crystal 
goblets shuffled in. He poured, left the glasses and the 
bottle, and exited without a word.
    "To the empire," Laquatus said. "And new friends." He 
waited patiently with his glass extended. Veza hesitated, 
then gently tapped her goblet against Laquatus's. Where 
Veza merely sipped, Laquatus drained his goblet dry.
    "An excellent vintage, if I do say so myself. I 
received a case of it from the Cabal First himself-"
    "Excuse me, Ambassador. To business?"
    Laquatus laughed. "Of course. Please forgive me. And 
you must call me Laquatus, my dear." He abruptly shucked 
his robe and dove into the pool. His legs shimmered and 
merged in mid air. By the time he hit the water, his tail 
was fully formed.
    "I prefer to conduct my interviews underwater," 
Laquatus called. "For security reasons. Would you care to 
join me, Director? Or would you prefer a chair?"
    Veza glanced at Turg, who was now dozing. She untied 
her sash, folded her robe, and stepped off the edge of the 
pool into the water.
    "Your mastery of the change is remarkable, Laquatus."
    The ambassador turned his head, as if embarrassed. 
"Thank you.
    But surely you also share the innate ability of our 
people?"
    "I do. But it takes considerably more time and effort 
for me."
    "Ah, that's merely a matter of practice. The nature of 
our magic is change, you see. To be fluid in both mind and 
body. Our cephalid cousins sometimes treat it as a flaw, 
but I see our ability to straddle land and sea as a 
blessing." He motioned below the surface with his eyes, 
then dived down. Veza followed, and the two merfolk began 
streaming back and forth across the pool.
    "I've called you here," Laquatus said, "because I think 
I've got something for you. I believe that the assassins 
who attacked our lady were hired by the Cabal."
    Veza considered. "Do you know why?"
    Laquatus waved his hand dismissively. "Who knows? With 
animals such as these, it could be a simple matter of 
murder for hire."
    Veza stopped. "Ambassador. I hope you didn't bring me 
all the way here from Breaker Bay just to tell me that you 
suspect the Cabal may be involved."
    "Of course not, my dear." Laquatus put a comforting 
hand on her shoulder. "And please. Call me Laquatus." He 
pointed upward and surfaced. When Veza's head broke the 
surface of the pool, Laquatus said, "I wanted to meet you 
in person, and I wanted to show you something that will 
make it easier for us to do so again in the future."
    The ambassador reached a long arm out and traced a 
circle on the water's surface. He was whispering under his 
breath, and with each new circle he inscribed, Veza tingled 
as if the water were conveying a mild electric shock. There 
was a rip and a crack, and the circle drawn by Laquatus 
became a disk of energy floating on the pool's surface.
    "This," Laquatus said, "is a transport portal. With it, 
you can travel from the surface of one body of water to the 
surface of another. It is one of the great imperial 
secrets, and in the name of the empire, I share it with 
you." Across the room, a similar disk of energy appeared in 
Laquatus's fountain. With a playful grin, he rose up and 
dove into the disk beside him, instantly coining out of the 
disk in the fountain. Veza noticed that he had changed back 
into his legged form in mid-transfer in order to fit in the 
fountain's pool.
    "From now on," Laquatus called, "if I need to tell you 
something, or if you need me, we can be together in a 
matter of seconds. Simply call to me from your mirror, and 
I will join you or bring you here."
    "I'm flattered, Ambass-Laquatus. But I don't see how 
this is a significant improvement over the mirror itself."
    Laquatus stepped back into the portal and reemerged 
with his tail fully formed beside Veza once more. "That's 
because you limit your thoughts to the task at hand. The 
empire rewards those who go beyond the call of duty, who 
take risks. You should be more fluid, Veza. Expand to fill 
the space around you. It is your nature."
    Laquatus's penetrating eyes burrowed into hers. "I want 
us to be friends as well as loyal subjects. I want you to 
visit me as often as you can. I think we have much to offer 
one another, even beyond our duty to the empire."
    "Of course." Veza blinked. "Have any of your contacts 
in the Cabal told you who hired the assassins?"
    Laquatus's gaze narrowed. "No. But I will tell you as 
soon as they have."
    "Thank you, Laquatus." Veza ducked under the glowing 
disk and swam to the edge of the marble. "I must get back 
to my duties now." She took her robe from poolside. "Can 
your transport get me back to Breaker Bay?"
    "Certainly. In this case, that's what it's for." 
Laquatus waved his hands and the two disks disappeared. He 
quickly traced another onto the surface of the pool and 
turned to Veza. "The other portal should be on the surface 
of Breaker Bay, just outside your cottage." Veza swam back 
to Laquatus, and he stopped her with a raised hand.
    "I hope," he said, "that you don't feel this trip was 
for nothing."
    "Not at all. But I am unused to reporting directly to 
the empress, and I do not want to disappoint her."
    "Impossible," Laquatus said, flashing his most winning 
grin. Veza nodded. "Long live the empire." "Until we meet 
again."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Laquatus watched Veza dive into the portal and 
disappear. Damn the little land crawler anyway. Her mind 
was tight and ordered and clear, but it was also as hard as 
ice. He could see it, touch it, test it, but he could 
neither take hold of it nor gain access to it. Like many 
sea creatures, Veza was immune to all but the most invasive 
of the ambassador's telepathic probes.
    Laquatus switched back to his legged form and climbed 
out of the pool. He was not overly concerned. He had 
cracked tougher minds than Veza's in his time, and she 
already seemed enamored of his ability to change shape so 
easily. The more they interacted, the more receptive she 
would become. If he was careful, he could cultivate her as 
a political ally and as a scapegoat should anything go 
wrong.
    For now, he thought, Veza and Llawan both could keep. 
He put on his robe and mentally signaled Turg. The games 
were about to start, and it was time for the eventual 
winning team to scout the competition.
 
                       CHAPTER 9
 
    Chainer helped Kamahl find the location of the 
barbarian's first bout, then disappeared into  the crowd.  
Kamahl was slowly warming to Chainer's presence, but 
Chainer took the first opportunity he could to break away.
    He wanted to watch Kamahl fight from a clear vantage 
point, to see how good the mountain warrior really was.  
Chainer also wanted to avoid the centaur Kamahl had been 
given as a partner. Chainer didn't  like  centaurs, and he 
didn't trust himself to treat the man-horse as tactfully as 
the First required.
    So he stood in the spot with the best view he knew, up 
against the railing in the mezzanine. When Kamahl and the 
centaur teamed up against a Cabal dementia caster, Chainer 
was honestly impressed. Kamahl was much more careful in his 
application of force than any barbarians Chainer had heard 
about. He was devastating in combat, but he was also in 
control. The centaur seemed competent enough, but it was 
Kamahl who finished off their opponent with some kind of 
exploding axe. It was marvelous.
    Chainer gladly joined in the cheers for the victor. As 
he'd expected, the fixers had put long odds on the unknown 
warrior from the mountains, and anyone smart enough to put 
a bet down on Kamahl more than quadrupled their money. 
Chainer himself earned a tidy sum.
    Until the moment Kamahl's bout started, he hadn't felt 
the rush of being in the pits again, hadn't recaptured the 
simple joy of combat. No wonder he'd felt uninvolved. The 
games had been lackluster, he was on an important 
assignment from the First, and he was unarmed except for a 
thrice-damned ornamental dagger. Watching Kamahl brought it 
all back for him. The elegant simplicity of the contest, 
the concrete rewards of developing one's skills, the pride 
of a well-fought victory, these things were missing from an 
apprentice's life.
    Chainer picked his way through the crowd back to 
Kamahl's side and congratulated him personally. The centaur 
had trotted off to comb the nettles out of its tail or some 
such thing. Chainer was only glad it was gone.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer and Kamahl were watching Turg tear apart a 
Krosan dragonette when the alarm sounded. The barbarian 
reacted a split second before the Cabalist, but both were 
up before the sentries blew a second warning.
    "Something big is coming," Chainer said. "That's the 
full-on alert klaxon."
    Kamahl grunted and unsheathed one of his throwing axes. 
"Come on, then. Let's go kill something big."
    Chainer paused, trying to sort out competing 
priorities. The First had told him to stick with Kamahl, 
but the Cabal was under attack.
    Chainer watched a pitiful few Cabalists standing firm 
against the crush of warriors and spectators trying to 
escape. The Master of the Games had lost all control.
    "You go," Chainer said to Kamahl. "I can do more good 
in here." Kamahl nodded, and without a second glance 
charged off into the bedlam.
    Chainer watched him go with a kind of jealousy. The 
barbarians had it good, he thought. All they needed was 
something to fight and their path became clear. Chainer 
didn't know what Kamahl was running off to confront, but 
then neither did Kamahl, and Chainer longed for that kind 
of abandon. Perhaps he should have been born in the 
mountains.
    Chainer pulled the ceremonial dagger from his hip, 
tucked it into his shirt, and sprinted back toward his 
quarters. He would never throw away anything the First had 
given him, but he would be damned if he were going to wear 
it one second longer than he had to.
    And while he could not stop the First from simply 
giving the Mirari away, Chainer vowed that he would stop 
anyone who tried to steal it from the prize cache.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Very few people took notice of a single, determined, 
unarmed young man as he dodged panicky civilians and 
hurdled slow-moving monsters. Two who did notice sat in a 
darkened room, deep inside the First's manor, staring into 
a scrying pool.
    "He's going to get his weapons. His chain and dagger," 
Skellum said.
    "Yes," the First answered.
    "I should go to him. He's at a very dangerous stage of 
his training right now. A small error in judgment could 
cost him his life- and the Cabal a lot more."
    "And yet," the First said, "if he displays sound 
judgment, he'll take a great leap forward. He and the Cabal 
would both profit."
    "Very true, Pater." Skellum waited for a moment. "May I 
go to him?"
    "Stay with me a while longer," the First said. "Let us 
roll the bones with your young pupil there. You can't 
properly evaluate a student if his mentor never stops 
mentoring."
    "The First is wise." Skellum anxiously watched Chainer 
in the scrying pool. He hadn't thought of it before, but 
the First usually watched the games from his private box 
that floated high above the arena, or he didn't watch them 
at all. The only reason to call Skellum in to join him for 
a private viewing was to keep him away from Chainer.
    The First also watched Chainer in the scrying pool, 
ignoring Skellum for the moment. Then, he said, "Everything 
is working out perfectly."
    Skellum knew that the next few minutes would either 
make his pupil great or break him down into a gibbering 
husk. Barred from action, Skellum's mind raced through all 
the potential outcomes of Chainer's impromptu trial by 
fire. And though he swam on the shores of nightmare and 
kept the creatures he found there in his pocket, Skellum 
realized he was afraid.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer ran toward the prize vault with renewed 
confidence. With his chain and his dagger, he felt fully 
dressed again. A tiny seed of inspiration had also led him 
to grab the censer and a few discs of Dragon's Blood.
    He turned down the last long hallway that led to the 
vault and narrowed his eyes. There was already a skirmish 
going on outside the vault. Two Cabalist humans were 
grappling with a pair of reptilian pirates, dressed for the 
sea, and a blue-robed illusionist. Chainer recognized 
Deidre, the long-nailed door guard, but the other, more 
simian Cabalist was unknown to him.
    The illusionist was bedeviling Chainer's brethren with 
the image of a small sea monster and a swarm of stinging 
faeries. Chainer guessed the illusions were as convincing 
as the real thing when looked at head on, but he could see 
straight through them. The mage must have cast the illusion 
so that it only affected the guards in front of her.
    Big mistake, Chainer thought. Without slowing, he broke 
out the full length of his chain and started spinning it 
overhead. When he was in range, he let out a whoop. The 
illusionist turned just in time to catch Chainer's rounded 
weight square in the temple. The sea monster and the faerie 
faded as the illusionist swooned and fell.
    "She's not dead," Chainer said to the pirates. He spoke 
extra loud, for the record the First would surely make of 
this incident.
    "You soon will be," one of the pirates hissed. Neither 
of the raiders looked comfortable with the sudden shift in 
the odds. As the pirate who spoke raised his short spear, 
the other continued to wrestle with the simian guard.
    The spear never flew. Once the pirate had raised it to 
his ear, Deidre's razor fingers exploded out of the center 
of his chest. Ice-blue blood poured from the wound, and the 
reptilian looked down stupidly at Deidre's hand. She yanked 
it back with a rough jerk, and the pirate dropped to the 
now-slick floor beside the illusionist.
    Deidre smiled at Chainer. "That one's dead," she said, 
and then she turned and drove her nails into the remaining 
pirate's spine with a vicious thrust of her right hand. The 
simian Cabalist continued to wrestle with the lifeless 
reptile until he realized Deidre had ended his fun. He 
grunted in exasperation and cast the dead pirate aside.
    The unconscious illusionist groaned, and Chainer looked 
from her to her dead companions to Deidre's brutal smile.
    "You killed them," he said.
    "That's what I do, little brother." Deidre flicked a 
drop of blue blood off her index finger.
    The noises from other battles echoed down the long 
hallway, but Chainer was too annoyed to mind them. "I got 
chewed out by the First himself for killing a bird. A bird! 
And you butcher two pirates in the blink of an eye and 
stand there smiling? How fair is that?"
    Deidre laughed, and Chainer hadn't realized how 
disturbing it was to see a tall, beautiful woman smile when 
she had three eyes and blue blood dripping from both hands.
    "The First told us to kill anyone who tries to get 
through this door," she pointed at the entrance to the 
vault room. "And if the First says so, it's fair."
    Chainer considered. "Anyone?"
    "Anyone."
    "Including me?"
    "Including you, little brother. You're part of anyone, 
aren't you?"
    Chainer spooled his chain around his wrist and took out 
the censer. "If you don't mind, big sister, I'll go back to 
the mouth of the corridor and make sure no one else comes 
down here to rush the vault."
    "Please yourself," Deidre said. She rapped the simian 
Cabalist with her knuckles and gestured to the door. "We'll 
be here as ordered, just on the off chance that someone 
gets past you. And little brother?"
    "Yes?" Chainer waited.
    "You can kill 'em if you want to." Deidre laughed a 
raucous, unpleasant laugh that made Chainer's blood run 
cold. As he retreated back down the corridor and the two 
guards retook their positions on either side of the door, 
Chainer reminded himself to stay on Deidre's good side.
    He lit a charcoal disc, then loaded the censer with 
Dragon's Blood. The thick smoke soon filled the narrow 
hallway, and
    Chainer began to swing the censer around his head, as 
Skellum had shown him.
    Shouts of battle and screams of pain were echoing 
throughout the arena, but Chainer focused on the spinning 
censer and the smoke. Skellum had told him that dementia 
summoning was all about vision. What you saw, when and how 
you saw it. If you could see beyond the world around you, 
you could leave it behind and take yourself to the new 
place you'd created.
    Chainer stared at the pewter cage as it flew and 
smoked, breathing evenly. There were a dozen ways to reach 
dementia space, and Skellum explained them all in detail. 
Breathing, stance, concentration, stamina, all of these 
things and more could affect the end result of a dementia 
caster's work. Perhaps the old man thought he could give 
Chainer too much information, could confuse or discourage 
him from trying what he was about to try. Chainer grinned 
at the thought. He had an excellent memory, and while he 
didn't think he could produce a full-fledged dementia 
monster, he did remember enough of Skellum's lessons to 
defend the hallway.
    Chainer heard the booted tread of an armed party 
heading his way, but he couldn't see them for the smoke. 
Deidre and the simian were too far behind to offer advice, 
but Chainer knew of one sure way to determine friend from 
foe.
    "The Cabal is here," he called.
    "Not for long," came the gruff reply. "Swords." Chainer 
heard multiple blades scraping out of multiple scabbards. 
"For Kirtar. For the Order." There was a bright flash, and 
Chainer could make out three glowing blades just beyond the 
miniature fog bank he had created. Behind the advancing 
boots, Chainer heard something heavy dragging its feet 
across the floor.
    Chainer focused on the smoke, slowly becoming lost in 
its oily feel against his skin, the stifling odor, and the 
painful tears it brought to his eyes. He continued to 
breathe as Skellum had taught him, always fighting the 
impulse to cough. The marching feet drew closer.
    Above their rhythm Chainer heard the whistling of the 
chain as it slashed through the air. He reached higher 
above his head, even going up on his tip toes to elevate 
the censer as high as he could.
    Three members of the Order came slowly but steadily 
through the smoke, their gleaming swords out in front of 
them like torches. Chainer was gratified to see that they 
were crouching slightly, on guard like good toy soldiers 
ought to be. It gave him more clearance above their heads. 
He let the chain out another two feet as it spun, so that 
the Order were inside its radius.
    "Who's there?" said the shortest of the three figures. 
He wore officer's robes and was the one with the gruff 
voice who had answered Chainer. "In the name of the Order, 
stand aside!" A tall, manlike figure loomed out of the 
smoke behind him.
    "I'll stand aside," Chainer called, "but you're coming 
with me." He closed his eyes and remembered the feel of the 
place Skellum had showed him. Light-headed, he felt his 
balance evaporate. He might have been falling forward or 
backward, down or up.
    He remembered what Skellum had forced him to describe 
before he had ever seen it. The blasted landscape, the 
threatening skies. Chainer saw a whole world of his own 
that was just waiting for him to come and claim it. Yet it 
was tantalizingly out of reach, and all Chainer could do 
was imagine it.
    He felt his stomach drop and suffered an extreme wave 
of vertigo. He opened his eyes. The hallway, the vault, and 
the entire building were gone. Chainer stood in a circle of 
smoke on an endless black sand desert. Three soldiers and a 
huge limestone golem were with him. The sky above was an 
unbroken field of sickening mustard yellow, and a bruise-
colored moon shone overhead. Opposite the moon was a hole 
in the sky, and from the jagged hole poured a blood-red 
river that was slowly creating an inland sea.
    Chainer and the Order soldiers alike stared upward, 
disoriented and hesitant. The limestone golem shuffled 
forward, oblivious to the change in location. It stood well 
over eight feet, so
    Chainer's censer was impeded. The cage clanged noisily 
off its cheek and bounced on the wall and floor several 
times before Chainer got it back under control. The world 
flickered around them, flashing between the vault hallway 
and the black desert.
    Once Chainer recovered the censer's momentum, the alien 
landscape returned and stayed. The interruption, however, 
snapped the officer with the gruff voice out of his 
awestruck daze.
    "Forward," he barked at the golem. He stepped behind 
the limestone man and began following it like a shield. 
"Fall in behind me," he said, and the other soldiers 
quickly lined up. Single file, the strange procession 
slowly made its way toward Chainer.
    Chainer felt the first stirrings of panic. He had been 
planning on a bigger advantage from the element of 
surprise, but he hadn't counted on having to surprise 
something that wasn't alive. He wasn't sure what to do 
next. He couldn't simultaneously spin the chain and defend 
himself, something Skellum had warned him about. If he 
abruptly stopped spinning to lash out at the Order, would 
they all be trapped in the black desert? Could they ever 
get out? Or would they just flash back to the hallway as if 
nothing had happened?
    Deidre sprang hissing over Chainer's shoulder before he 
could decide to stand or fight. She pounced on the golem, 
clung to its head like an insect, and began slashing and 
tearing at its face.
    "You gonna stand there all day, little brother," she 
called, "or are you going to help me? Come on, they're all 
lined up for us."
    Chainer watched the strange world around them flicker 
back into a normal hallway as he reeled in the censer. He 
quickly whispered the spell that separated the cage from 
the chain and replaced the censer with a rounded weight. He 
then gathered the chain up in both hands and whipped the 
weighted end into the golem's kneecap. The limestone man's 
leg cracked, but held together. The golem himself didn't 
even notice.
    The soldiers started to spread out from behind the 
golem.
    Deidre's simian partner charged into them before they 
could separate and clumsily bore two of them to the ground. 
The officer still stood, however, and he looked first at 
Deidre attacking the golem, then back at the tangled knot 
of simian and soldier. He nodded, then prepared to drive 
the point of his glowing sword deep into the simian's back.
    Deidre wasn't faring much better. For all her effort, 
she was merely chipping away at the golem, doing cosmetic 
damage to its limestone head and throat. There were almost 
as many metallic shards of her fingernails as there were of 
the golem's face, however.
    Chainer's fighting instincts were coming back to him. 
The dementia trap hadn't worked, but he had spent two years 
in the pits before Skellum pulled him out, and to survive 
in the pits you strategized fast and acted faster. He sent 
the end of his chain smashing into the officer's hand. The 
officer squawked and dropped his blade, which stopped 
glowing as soon as it hit the floor.
    "Deidre," Chainer hollered, "get off him, you're not 
hurting him!" The simian cracked one of his opponent's arms 
at the elbow and then shoved the screaming man over the 
officer, who had bent down to retrieve his sword.
    Deidre had dropped off the golem and was now trading 
blows with it. Rather, she was striking off tiny chips from 
its chest and arms and in return, it was missing her 
entirely. She bobbed and weaved like the veteran fighter 
she was, avoiding each of its slow, heavy blows.
    "If I keep cracking you," she said through clenched 
razor teeth, "eventually you'll break." Deidre was dancing 
around so much that Chainer couldn't predict where she 
would be next, so he couldn't strike at the golem.
    The simian was doing better. He had the unwounded foot 
soldier in a headlock on one side and the officer's sword 
arm in a death grip on the other. The simian hooted, 
amused.
    Deidre turned a forward roll into a two-handed strike 
that landed square in the center of the limestone golem's 
chest. Her long nails dug in deep. For the briefest moment, 
she was held fast as she tried to reverse her momentum and 
pull herself free. In that moment, the golem brought his 
huge hands together in a wide, arcing clap with Deidre's 
broad shoulders in between. A sickening crunch followed.
    "Deidre!" Chainer said. "No!" The simian echoed 
Chainer's howl, shoved the officer back, and angrily 
snapped the headlocked foot soldier's neck.
    The golem let Deidre fall. The officer sprang forward 
and ran the simian through with his good hand before the 
Cabalist could get clear of the soldier he had just killed. 
The simian dropped, choking and grunting and clutching at 
its wounded chest.
    The golem began to shuffle toward Chainer, and the 
officer fell in step beside it. His sword and the golem's 
hands were bloody. In the last few wisps of Dragon's Blood 
smoke, Chainer faced them alone.
    "Surrender, filth," the officer said. He held the hand 
Chainer had smashed at his side, but he seemed just as 
comfortable with the sword in his other hand.
    "You're robbing us, and we're filth?" Chainer knew he 
had to stop the golem first. It was too tough for his chain 
or his dagger. He needed something better, something more 
dangerous-something drastic.
    "Give it up, officer," he called. He feinted at the 
man's face with the weighted end of the chain, flicking it 
back and forth to keep him at bay.
    The golem was getting closer as the officer stayed 
back. Chainer kept up the pretense that he was focusing on 
the human officer and letting the limestone golem get close 
enough to grab him.
    Two more steps to go. Chainer reached out for the 
Mirari, fifty feet and a thick metal door away. This close 
to it, he could hear its call and feel its power responding 
to him. It knew him. It was waiting for him.
    One more step. Chainer moved slightly to his left. The 
golem was between himself and the officer.
    "Kill him," the officer said.
    Now.
    Skellum had not been Chainer's first master. A Cabalist 
warrior named Minat lost most of his sight in the pit near 
Chainer's village in the salt flats. Chainer was alone, and 
Minat was bored. He showed Chainer the basics of pit 
fighting, gave him an unusual weapon to master, and amazed 
him with tales of the Cabal's power and influence.
    He also taught Chainer the death bloom spell. "As a 
last resort," he had told Chainer, "to be used only when it 
was absolutely necessary." Minat was long dead, but Chainer 
remembered him well. And there had never been a more 
necessary occasion for the death bloom.
    The golem reached out for Chainer's arm. Chainer 
crouched, pushed both arms out straight, and cocked his 
wrists back as far as they would go. With the Mirari behind 
him and the dark rage of Deidre's death still hot in his 
chest, Chainer spoke the words. He had never tried the 
death bloom on an artificial creature before, but it was 
his only hope.
    A beam of black energy exploded out of Chainer's hands 
and slammed into the golem's chest. The cracked limestone 
seemed to soak up the energy, drawing it in like a sponge 
draws water. Chainer maintained his stance and his focus, 
pouring more power into the spell. The golem's innards went 
black, and it started to shudder.
    With a roar, Chainer stepped forward and shoved the 
beam further into the golem's chest. The agonizing screech 
of ripping stone echoed down the hallway, and the golem 
exploded.
    Driven by the unrelenting power from Chainer's hands, 
the shards of limestone rocketed backward, away from the 
vault. At least a dozen embedded themselves in the 
officer's body like shaft-less arrows. The officer 
staggered and fell backward. The energy from Chainer's 
hands withered, and he fell to his knees, blood streaming 
from his nose and ears.
    Chainer shook his head to clear it, wiped the blood 
from his nose, and stood. He could see that the simian had 
stopped breathing. One of the Order soldiers was dead and 
another unconscious with his elbow twisted completely in 
the wrong direction. The officer was moaning as he lay 
bleeding. Chainer painfully shuffled over to Deidre.
    She was mortally wounded, broken beyond repair. Her 
arms looked like bags of shattered bone, and she coughed 
blood. Her legs and her face were undamaged, however, and 
Chainer watched sadly as all three of her eyes rolled back 
and forth in her head.
    "Don't you dare," Deidre rasped. Dazed, numb, and mute, 
Chainer stepped forward.
    "Don't . . . waste," Deidre managed. She choked and 
coughed before continuing. "Don't waste . . . us." She 
tried to gesture with her mangled arm and then screamed in 
pain.
    "Don't waste us," she said again. Her eyes were wild, 
unfocused. She smiled one last time.
    Chainer understood. "I won't, big sister."
    "Don't . . ."
    Chainer waited for a few silent seconds and then closed 
Deidre's eyes.
    "The Cabal is here," he whispered, and the jolt sent 
him sprawling backward. Deidre had been so very much alive 
that converting her savage life into death almost finished 
Chainer off as well.
    He felt better as he picked himself up. Chainer caught 
his reflection in a mirrored hallway decoration. His 
tightly rolled braids were all undone and askew. His face 
was a smear of blood. His eyes were two black holes that 
glowed with an un-light very similar to the Mirari's.
    He glanced at the remaining bodies, and then walked 
past them to where the officer lay. He, too, was very near 
the end.
    "For Kirtar," he said. "For the Order." Then he died.
    "For the First," Chainer's voice was a bitter snarl. 
"For Deidre. For the Cabal."
    Chainer got out the censer and started another disc of 
incense burning. He left the cage at the mouth of the vault 
hallway so that the smoke would obscure the entrance. Then 
he went back and finished what he had promised to Deidre.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Skellum and the First watched the scrying pool. 
Chainer's smoke did not affect the spell that powered the 
pool, and his Cabal masters could see him clearly.
    "You have trained him well, Skellum."
    "I didn't teach him that, Pater," Skellum said. "It's 
bad enough that he abandoned the assignment you gave him, 
but-"
    "I have nothing but praise for your student's behavior. 
He showed initiative. He stood by his family and protected 
our property."
    "But the Order . . . the tournament. We were going to 
give the Mirari away as a trophy. Why should he kill to 
protect it?"
    "Because it is my will," the First said. "And you, his 
master, doubted his abilities. Look at him now."
    Skellum was careful to keep his face neutral as he 
watched. Chainer was moving from body to body, standing 
over them, absorbing what he could of their dying energy. 
With each absorption, the black glow from his eyes grew 
stronger, and the more exaggerated and stylized his 
movements became.
    "He continues to impress," the First said. "He does 
everything properly and with enthusiasm."
    "He's a ghoul, Pater," Skellum said. "I know you think 
me overcautious, but what he's doing is exactly wrong for a 
dementist at his level."
    "Wrong?" the First asked witheringly. Skellum bowed his 
head.
    "Forgive me, Pater. You are wise and I see little. But 
I must-"
    "You must be silent," the First said. He sat watching 
Chainer for a few seconds. The youth was casting several 
chains at once, creating them out of thin air with the 
dying energies he had just absorbed. He used them to sound 
the edges of the space he was in, striking sparks off the 
stone walls and then drawing the chains back into his body. 
"How like a spider he is," the First muttered, "or a snake 
with a dozen flickering tongues."
    Skellum stood in silence. The figure of Chainer turned 
on some silent enemy, opened his mouth wide, and sent a 
barrage of chains lashing out from his fingers. He jerked 
the chains back and crossed his arms in satisfaction. 
Whomever or whatever he had been striking at had beat a 
hasty retreat.
    The First stood, and Skellum smoothly backpedaled to 
get out of his way. "When your student has bled off some of 
that energy he's holding onto," the First said, "I want you 
to collect him and take him home. By this time next week, I 
want him ready for the pits."'
    "In his mind, Pater, he's already there." Skellum kept 
his head bowed, anticipating a rebuke. But the First merely 
gestured, and one of his hand attendants stepped forward 
and put a comforting arm on Skellum's shoulder.
    "Your concerns have been noted. But you should be proud 
of what you have accomplished for the Cabal. And of what 
your student will yet accomplish."
    "I am proud, Pater, but I am also afraid."
    The First stared down at Skellum through his milky 
eyes. The barest hint of a smile played with the corners of 
his mouth.
    "Then you are no different from any other father. Come. 
I suspect the large dragon has been subdued by now, and 
I've yet to hear the final result of the tournament.
    "And then," he added, "we have to make sure the Mirari 
falls into the most deserving hands we can find."
    Both men fell silent as they continued to watch 
Chainer's lethal dance in the scrying pool, but only the 
First was smiling. Skellum's eyes were far away and his 
face slack, as if he were staring at something enormous 
that only he could see.
 
                       CHAPTER 10
 
    The empress's mirror had been silent for weeks, and 
Veza had quickly become desperate for anything of substance 
to report. Obtaining information from or about Laquatus was 
not a problem. He frequently called to flirt and chatter 
about Cabal doings. Obtaining useful information from or 
about Laquatus was another matter. Veza had exhausted her 
private library and her admittedly sparse network of 
contacts, and had even paid passing sailors and local 
hoodlums for any gossip or rumors about the ambassador. So 
far, the ambassador remained a cipher.
    There were those who claimed Laquatus was a staunch 
supporter of the emperor, but there were an equal number 
who claimed he was firmly but secretly in Llawan's camp. 
The most prevalent opinion was that he was simply following 
the tide, which currently favored Aboshan. It was rumored 
that he had vast mental powers, and could rewrite your 
memories as easily as he could sign his own name. Veza 
heard tales of the awesome creatures he had enslaved with 
the power of his mind and the darkest of spells, of the 
pirates he had betrayed and the rivals he'd had purged. 
None of it was reliable or novel enough to report to 
Llawan.
    To avoid submitting another rehash of conflicting 
hearsay about Laquatus, Veza had at last resorted to magic. 
She was not an expert in any one particular discipline, but 
she did have a solid command of water-to-air breathing 
incantations and other basic seagoing survival spells. She 
was extremely adept at research, however, and she soon 
discovered a spell that could help her. It was a knowledge 
immersion ritual practiced by some of the more 
contemplative cephalids in the empire.
    It was designed to expand one's capacity to process 
information. Properly prepared and cast, the spell allowed 
scholars to read and retain a library full of scrolls in 
the time it took a hot bath to cool. In a sense, you 
gathered your data and poured it into a small body of 
water. Then you climbed in to soak up that data with every 
pore.
    Veza had made all the preparations and readied herself 
to carry them out. If it worked, she'd have something of 
value to share with the empress. If not, she had lost 
nothing but some time.
    She choked down a vial of the briny potion and 
grimaced. She scattered a mixture of herblike seaweed, 
powdered pearl, and dried fish entrails over the surface of 
her sleeping tub, then pronounced the words to the 
immersion spell. She blew on the carved driftwood effigy of 
Laquatus in her palm, then lowered herself into the 
churning, bubbling water. As her eyes sank beneath the 
surface, she experienced the flash and crack of lightning 
in her mind, and her body went rigid as steel.
    She saw Laquatus in a giant Cabal arena, watching a 
huge frog fight. She heard the frog's bellowing roar, which 
nearly drowned out the continuous internal whine of the 
predator's natural bloodlust.
    Veza trembled in the churning bath, her eyes sightless, 
her mouth voiceless.
    She saw the frog look at Laquatus, with the merman 
reflected in the beast's great eye. She saw Laquatus look 
at the frog, with the amphibian captured in Laquatus's stem 
glare.
    Another jolt of electricity slammed through Veza, and 
her paralysis broke. Still blind and mute she began to 
thrash, splashing even more water out of the tub. She was 
aware of her legs merging and melting together to form a 
tail, and the pain was as excruciating as ever. Her jaw 
locked, as it always did during these transformations, with 
her sharp teeth piercing her lower lip.
    She heard the frog's booming vocalization from 
Laquatus's point of view. She heard Laquatus's voice in the 
frog's head, issuing constant orders and demands for 
obedience.
    Veza found her voice and screamed just as a massive 
explosion of water and spray cast her completely out of the 
tub. Heavy, tailed, and clumsy on the wooden floor, she 
clawed painfully at the boards and then raised her torso 
with her arms. She heaved for breath and started to choke. 
During the shock-transformation, she had inadvertently gone 
into her true deep-sea form. She couldn't breathe because 
her lungs were empty and flattened inside her chest. With a 
powerful flip of her tail, she rolled herself to the edge 
waters that lapped at her living room and dumped herself 
into the bay.
    Clear, cold sea water flowed over her gills, and she 
quickly began to regain her equilibrium. In the water, she 
was no longer clumsy and her increased body weight was 
supported by its own buoyancy. Exultant, she thrashed her 
tail again and shot out under the walls of her cottage, out 
toward the open sea.
    Veza had the answer. She had seen something that would 
at last give Llawan direct access to Laquatus's schemes. 
Something to justify the imperial trust that had been 
placed in her.
    Laquatus controlled the frog. The frog obeyed Laquatus. 
There was a permanent, almost palpable link between them 
both, mind and body. And while Laquatus's mind was too well 
guarded to invade, and the frog's was too primitive to 
understand, the link between them was neither. To a 
practiced psychic, reading that link would be as simple as 
eavesdropping on a conversation between intimates.
    Laquatus's reliance on agents had just given them an 
opportunity to determine his loyalties once and for all. It 
wasn't much, Veza thought, but it was potentially the first 
drop in a deluge. She turned in mid-stroke, pleased at her 
grace underwater after so much time on land, and then she 
shot back toward her cottage and the empress's mirror.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    "And you are certain this will work?"
    "Yes, my empress," Veza said. She was still in her 
tailed form, but she had reopened her airways in order to 
speak. It had been difficult retrieving the mirror without 
switching back to her legged form, but she had managed it. 
Now she floated comfortably in the bay, perched on the edge 
of her cottage floor while she spoke into the mirror.
    "And Laquatus will not know we are monitoring him?"
    "Not if your psychics are careful, Empress."
    Llawan paused. "Are you psychic, Director Veza?"
    "No, Empress. I merely observed the existence of the 
link. I didn't attempt to examine it. To get the kind of 
information I think we can, we will need to employ an 
expert."
    "A very subtle and gifted expert, we should think," 
Llawan said. "Fortunately, we have the finest mind-rider in 
all the empire right here in our city." She turned and 
clicked a few curt commands to someone behind her. Then she 
regarded Veza with a suspicious eye. "Are you currently 
tailed, Director?"
    Veza flushed, giving her blue skin a purplish tone. 
"Yes, Empress. It was a side effect of the spell I cast."
    "We understand. You will resume your land-going form at 
once." "Empress?"
    "We are going to test this theory of yours. We are 
going to give you information to pass along to Laquatus. If 
he sees you changed as you are, he will assume you have 
been to the depths and are in league with someone to betray 
him. He might guess Aboshan and he might guess Llawan, but 
if he guesses at all, he will be on guard. And we would 
have him as unprepared as possible when we first attempt to 
monitor him."
    "Of course, Empress." Veza said a silent blessing for 
her luck. She was not sure she could change back on 
command, and at least now she would not have to try in 
front of the empress.
    Llawan sat silent for a moment, thinking. Then, she 
said, "I will send a courier with falsified documents that 
prove we are in hiding. You will show them to Laquatus and 
offer to deliver them to him if he so wishes." She half-
opened her beak in a sharp cephalid smile. "Laquatus will 
certainly pass the information on to Aboshan. Our imperial 
husband is always pleased to hear reports of our weakness, 
and Laquatus is always eager to please the emperor.
    "If our monitors pick up our planted information in the 
link you describe, we will know that it is truly a window 
into Laquatus's mind. And you, Director Veza, will have 
earned our gratitude and our love."
    "You honor me, Empress Llawan."
    "Not yet, Director. First, we will test your flash of 
inspiration. This audience is over."
    Llawan broke the connection, and Veza watched the 
mirror go dark. Then she carefully laid it down and pushed 
herself off the floor into the water. She felt calm and 
confident, but her exhilaration faded into fatigue as she 
floated in lazy circles around her tidal pool.
    She knew she'd been ignoring her regular duties as 
depot director, but she also knew that however things 
happened, she wouldn't have to worry about them for very 
much longer. Either her idea would bear fruit, Llawan would 
reward her, and Aboshan would declare her his enemy. Or, 
her idea would fail, and Llawan would punish her, and she'd 
be stuck in Breaker Bay forever, with plenty of time to 
catch up on her paperwork.
    In any case, she thought, she wasn't in any shape to do 
anything with the next few hours but take some well-earned 
time to herself in the gentle lapping waves of Breaker Bay.
 
                       CHAPTER 11
 
    Chainer awoke in his own private bedroom. He looked 
around to determine where he was, then checked himself for 
wounds. There were some minor cuts and bruises, and a few 
more serious injuries which had already been stitched up 
and bandaged over. His scanning eyes came to rest on his 
chain coiled around the bedpost by his foot, and he 
remembered everything that had happened to him outside the 
vault.
    Everything but how he got back to his own room, that 
is. He recalled Skellum leading him through the labyrinth 
of halls and down Manor Way to the academy, but such 
indistinct memories were quickly eclipsed by images of 
Deidre's death and the echo of the Mirari's call. Chainer 
lunged out of bed, but his legs failed, and he fell heavily 
to the floor. His muscles wouldn't flex, and he could 
hardly move. His head swam, and his eyes, ears, and throat 
were raw.
    It was only then that he noticed Skellum. His mentor 
was sitting in a large, wooden rocker with a vague look on 
his face. Without so much as a flicker of an eyelid, 
Skellum tossed a censer across the room to Chainer. 
"Catch."
    Chainer slapped his hands around the pewter cage before 
it hit him in the chest and then winced as his arms 
objected.
    "Skellum," he said through the pain, "they got Deidre. 
Did they get the Mirari?"
    "Catch," Skellum said, and he tossed Chainer's knuckle 
dagger to him. Chainer was unable to get his fingers to 
work in time and had to roll out from under the dagger's 
point before it stuck in the floor. The abandoned censer 
rolled halfway back toward Skellum. "Skellum, what in nine 
hells-"
    "Catch." Chainer realized his mentor's hat had been 
spinning a split second before Skellum stopped a gap in 
front of his face. The vortex spat a small smoking comet 
toward Chainer. He yelped and reflexively snapped his hand 
out as if casting his chain.
    To his surprise, a black chain did leap out of his 
empty hand. Its sharp, weighted end intercepted Skellum's 
casting before it could fully form. There was a small pop, 
an oily flash, and a foul smell.
    Then Skellum was out of the chair and standing over 
him. Chainer had forgotten how fast the older man was. 
Chainer himself lie panting and helpless on the floor with 
his hands crossed defensively over his face.
    "I give, Master, I give," he said. "What's going on? 
Why won't you talk to me? Where's the Mirari?"
    "Kirtar of the Order has your precious Mirari," Skellum 
said. "A wild Krosan dragon came straight into the arena. 
There was a lot of noise and confusion. Kirtar and your 
barbarian friend stopped it, and the Master of the Games 
gave the Mirari to the bird-man as a reward."
    Chainer absorbed this. "Kamahl let him take it? Is he 
all right?" "Kamahl was buried under a half-ton of dead 
dragon," Skellum said. "By the time he dug himself out, 
Kirtar was gone, with that pretentious mer ambassador 
trailing behind him like a scavenger. Do fish scavenge 
after birds, or is it the other way around? Never mind. 
Your barbarian friend was half a day behind. He took off 
after them as soon as we told him they had the sphere."
    "I wanted him to have it," Chainer said absently. "The 
First said he would have won it."
    "And he could well have, but now we'll never know. The 
Mirari is gone, the First is pleased, and we have work to 
do." He prodded Chainer roughly with the toe of his boot. 
"Get up."
    "Ow. Why? Don't I get to sleep in after protecting the 
vault? Deidre and that monkey guy were killed, you know."
    "I do know, and you did get to sleep after protecting 
the vault. You've been asleep since I brought you here 
three days ago." "Three days? It can't be."
    "It is. You've slept long enough." He offered Chainer 
his hand, but his face was still stem and impatient.
    Chainer carefully took Skellum's hand and stood 
unsteadily. "Master," he said, "have I done wrong?"
    "Wrong?" Skellum jerked his hand away and shoved 
Chainer back onto his bed. The younger man clawed 
helplessly at the air as he fell. He had never heard 
Skellum raise his voice in anger before. "You abandoned an 
assignment given to you by the First himself. You used the 
dementia exercise I expressly told you not to use. You 
killed three more members of the Order after the First and 
I both forbade you to do so, and you killed them using a 
spell that you never told your mentor you knew how to 
perform."
    Chainer waited. Skellum would often browbeat him before 
praising him, but this was different. Chainer didn't think 
Skellum was going to break into a smile and laugh off these 
indiscretions any time soon.
    "This isn't a game, Chainer. Games take place in the 
pits. Games have rules, they have winners and losers. 
People watch games for amusement. What you did, what I do-
what all dementists do-it's not like anything else. You 
can't dabble in it. You can't polish it and put it in your 
weapons rack at the end of the day. Dementia space is 
alive. It interacts with you, it changes you. It shapes you 
just as surely as you shape it."
    "Master-"
    "Be silent. The First thinks I'm too careful with you. 
I don't know what you think, and I don't much care."
    "Mast-"
    "Be silent! I have trained scores of casters and 
potential dementists. The vast majority-" he tapped his 
temple with all five fingers brought to a point- "are gone. 
They only appear to be here in Cabal City with the rest of 
us. In reality, they only visit us occasionally. The rest 
of their time is spent raving, or meditating, or drooling 
quietly in a darkened room while they run wild in their own 
dementia space. Do you understand me at all, Chainer? What 
we do breaks minds. And the sad fact is that a broken mind 
won't stop you from being an excellent dementia caster. In 
fact, it often helps."
    "But I," Skellum's voice softened slightly, "want you 
lucid. I want you to be a full-fledged dementist. There is 
far too much in this world to be enjoyed, and madness tends 
to water down some of life's strongest flavors. I would 
rather have you here, in this world, sharing a good meal 
and a good show while we both serve the Cabal. Not lost in 
the world within, constantly building monsters so you can 
surround yourself with them."
    Skellum bent his face over Chainer's, and his voice 
dropped to a terse whisper. "The First also wants you 
lucid, for his own reasons.
    You and I both serve the First, we both serve the 
Cabal, but that doesn't mean we can't also serve 
ourselves."
    Chainer shut his eyes tightly, then reopened them. "I'm 
sorry, Master. I don't understand."
    Skellum's voice grew stern again. "That is why you 
should listen to me and follow my instructions."
    "I will, Master. I swear it." Chainer offered his hand 
up to Skel-lum. "Help me to succeed. Give me your 
instructions. I will not disappoint you again."
    Skellum continued to stare at Chainer, sighed, and 
finally took his pupil's hand. "I am not disappointed, 
Chainer. I am annoyed by your disobedience. And I am 
concerned for your safety." He pulled Chainer into a 
sitting position, took hold of his other hand, and hauled 
the younger man to his feet. "Now come with me. I told you 
before, we have a lot of work to do."
    Chainer stood, flexing his knees and ankles. The 
feeling was coming back into his extremities, and the pain 
was fading from his eyes and throat.
    "I think I'm ready, Master. Where are we going?"
    "To the pits. Gather your weapons."
    Chainer stiffly bent and gathered up the dagger and 
censer. "I may be slow on the staircase, but I think I can-
"
    "We're not going to the pit mock-up in the basement. We 
are going to the pits in the arena."
    "Really? What for?"
    Skellum's eyes narrowed. "Because the First wishes it. 
And also, to prove a point."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer stood in the empty pits, whirling the smoking 
censer around his head. As before, Skellum sat cross-legged 
on the floor in front of him with his hat also spinning.
    "Remember how you got there last time," Skellum said. 
"Without me, I might add. You must take us there. I'm 
visiting your dementia space this time, not the other way 
around."
    Chainer concentrated behind his closed eyes. The image 
was still there: the black sand, the endless desert, the 
red sea pouring from the mustard sky.
    "My eyes are closed, too." Skellum sounded petulant. 
"Are we there yet?"
    "Almost," Chainer said. He felt gravity shift beneath 
him, but he kept his balance. He opened his eyes. "We're 
here," he said.
    The scene was almost exactly as Chainer remembered it. 
The only major difference was that the inland sea was now 
half-full, and the rush of red from the hole in the sky had 
dropped off to a steady stream. He turned proudly to 
Skellum, but his mentor was staring wide eyed and open 
mouthed at the vista.
    "Kuberr's fortune," he whispered. "Chainer, is this 
what you saw in the hallway?"
    "Yes, Master." Chainer's body was still getting used to 
swinging the censer, but he had already worked out the best 
stance to take while spinning it. He adjusted his footing 
and raised his chain arm higher, trying to minimize the 
tension on his shoulder.
    "Chainer?"
    "Yes, Master?" Now Chainer adjusted his grip on the 
chain. He would probably need to start wearing a thick 
leather glove again, as he had when he first started 
learning the weapon. Minat had told him to be careful about 
letting calluses get too thick or they could throw off the 
feel of the chain and make you lose your grip.
    "Chainer!"
    "Master?"
    "Something's coming, and it doesn't look friendly. What 
should we do?"
    "What? I mean . . . aren't you the expert here? 
Master?"
    "This is your playground, not mine," Skellum's voice 
was gradually becoming more hollow and sing-song. "I'm just 
visiting."
    Chainer suddenly felt very cold. He was still 
recovering from protecting the vault, and the smell of 
Dragon's Blood wasn't helping. If Skellum faded out now, 
they might both die here. The figure Skellum had spotted 
was coming steadily closer. Chainer couldn't see it 
clearly, but it looked big. He squinted. Between the smoke 
and the featureless desert, it was impossible to put the 
thing on any kind of scale.
    "Master," he said, "what happens if I stop spinning the 
censer? Will we reappear in the pits, or-"
    "Don't stop spinning," Skellum said. "I forbid it." His 
hat was also spinning, faster than Chainer had ever seen. 
Skellum was also twitching slightly at the shoulder, and 
every time he twitched, it spread across the rest of his 
body like a wave. "Master? Are you all right?" "Don't stop 
spinning. Not till I say."
    The thing was now close enough for Chainer to see its 
general shape. It was humanoid but much broader and taller. 
It had a long, triangular head with wide jaws. It opened 
its mouth and roared. It was an ugly, grating sound, but 
Chainer welcomed it. At least now he knew how far away the 
thing was.
    "Master, we don't have much time. Ten or twenty 
seconds. I don't think I can fight this thing, and I don't 
know how to get back to the pits if I can't stop the 
censer. Help me."
    Skellum rose smoothly to his feet. "I thought you'd 
never ask." At his full height, he was well below the arc 
of the chain, even with the hat. He glided up alongside 
Chainer and held his hand in front of his pupil's mouth, 
just below his eyes.
    "When I say," Skellum kept his eyes on the approaching 
monster, "stop spinning."
    Chainer didn't know if it was a trick of perspective or 
if the thing was picking up speed as it got closer, but it 
seemed to be coming at them much faster than before. It 
charged along the ground like an ape, bent forward on all 
fours. It was taller than Chainer, and it had a head like a 
snake. Its lower jaw was distended and open wide, exposing 
rows and rows of short, sharp teeth. It continued to roar 
as it charged.
    When it was ten yards away, Skellum said, "Stop 
spinning," and covered Chainer's eyes. Chainer brought the 
censer to rest in the sand. He heard the implosive sound of 
Skellum producing a monster and felt another shift in his 
gut that told him they were now somewhere else. The 
creature's roar had vanished.
    "This is where you should have gone," Skellum said. 
"This is where you would have gone if you'd waited for me." 
He pulled his hand away, and Chainer blinked his eyes 
clear.
    They were surrounded by mist. Chainer sniffed it to 
make sure it wasn't just more Dragon's Blood, but the mist 
was odorless and felt the same as air in his lungs. He 
breathed in deeply and looked around, struggling to see 
anything through the thick fog.
    "Where you were just now," Skellum explained, "you just 
shouldn't have been able to get there without help. You're 
a gifted student, Chainer, but not that gifted."
    "But I was there, Master. You saw it. And I had no 
help."
    "Of course you did. Do you think it was a coincidence 
that you achieved this advanced state of dementia trance 
within a stone's throw of that artifact you found? The 
First said it was powerful. You had contact with it. 
Obviously you tapped into its power somehow, and that power 
catapulted you deeper into dementia space than you could 
have gone on your own."
    Chainer paused. "That would make sense."
    "And now, thanks to the First's meddling, the Mirari's 
power, and your willfulness, I have to do something I don't 
want to do." He looked meaningfully at Chainer, who waited 
for him to continue.
    "Do I want you to do it?"
    "Of course not," Skellum snapped. "It's unpleasant and 
painful, and you're going to think me heartless. But if I 
don't do it, you'll never make it back here."
    "Never?" "Never."
    Chainer hung the censer from a loop on his vest. "Then 
do it." Skellum smiled sadly at his pupil. "I already 
have." He whispered a few words and waved. A strong wind 
whipped up and carried most of the fog away with it. The 
bare landscape left behind was as dull and gray as an 
unpolished stone. In the distance several figures walked, 
their feet still partially obscured by wisps of fog.
    Chainer watched them walk. He pointed. "Who are they?"
    "They are the reason I didn't want you killing things 
before your training was complete. I have a confession to 
make, Chainer. The First only dressed you down for killing 
that Order war bird because I asked him to. I didn't want 
you to kill because every one and every thing you kill 
winds up here. This is the first level of dementia. The 
creatures here are the creatures you've seen, fought 
against, and bested. The memory of them remains here, in 
your mind. If you want to get deeper, if you want to go 
beyond your physical experiences, you must go through 
here."
    Chainer brushed his dagger. "So I have to fight them." 
He recognized the crusat bird Callda flying over the other 
figures. Its silhouette was bent and ragged, and it didn't 
seem possible that it could fly.
    "In a manner of speaking. You have to control them. 
They are not as they actually were, they are as you 
remember them to be. If you recall them as stronger than 
they were when you defeated them, they will be. If you 
believe they are still hostile to you, they will be."
    "Oh." Chainer's voice was tight.
    "It gets worse. You skipped this level and went right 
to one of the deepest reaches of your own dementia space. 
And when we went back there, something was waiting for us. 
Something that you've never actually faced but only 
imagined. There's no way that should have been possible, 
but there it is. You'll have to control that thing, too, 
along with these others."
    Chainer nodded. The distant figures were starting to 
notice him.
    The Callda shade set up a hideous squawking, as if 
trying to rally the others to an attack.
    "What happens if I can't?"
    "Let's not worry about that. You have to prepare-"
    "What happens, Skellum?"
    Skellum looked miserable. "If they don't tear you to 
pieces, you'll be trapped here forever, and they'll never 
stop hunting you. These things-" He waved- "aren't real to 
anyone but you Chainer, and they're not real anywhere but 
here. If you want to bring things out of this world, you 
need to be its master. You need to be the gateway they pass 
through, as well as the gatekeeper who lets them in or 
keeps them out." He gave his hat a discreet spin.
    "I am ready, Master."
    "That," Skellum said, "is what we are here to prove or 
disprove." The wind kicked up again, bringing a stream of 
mist with it. The mist swirled around Skellum until it 
enveloped him from the ground to his chin. Before it 
covered him completely, an implosion sounded, and he sent a 
smoking comet shooting toward the milling creatures. 
Halfway between Chainer and the inhabitants of his mind, it 
crashed and exploded into the shape of the snake-thing that 
had been charging at them under the mustard sky. It roared, 
angrily pounded the ground, and then turned on Chainer.
    Skellum's body was fading away. His voice was distant. 
"Good luck, Chainer. Kuberr does not offer protection, but 
he does offer rewards. You must now earn yours." He looked 
quickly around, then added, "I'll be watching." Then he was 
gone.
    Chainer watched the approaching monsters. There were 
more of them than he first realized. He tried to remember 
how many people and beasts he had defeated in the pits, and 
how many of those he had claimed for the Cabal.
    They were following the aggressive lead of the snake-
thing. He knew exactly where that had come from. Snakes 
were a constant danger in the flats, and he'd had bad 
dreams about them when he was a small boy, before he met 
Minat.
    Well, he thought, he had beaten them all at least once 
before. Skellum said it wasn't about beating them, though, 
it was about controlling them. Chainer didn't even know if 
they could be killed again. He wondered if they remembered 
how he defeated them the first time, and if he could rely 
on the same moves twice.
    In the last few moments he had, Chainer reviewed his 
assets. He had never been able to create fighting chains so 
easily and so quickly before, but he still doubted his 
ability to subdue the creatures one at a time or in small 
groups before the larger mass overwhelmed him. He wasn't 
even sure if his dagger or the sharpened weight would 
penetrate the snake-thing's hide. He would just have to 
find out the hard way.
    The snake-thing tried to barrel straight into Chainer 
without slowing. Chainer sprang over it and stabbed with 
his dagger. He had been right, the beast's hide was too 
thick.
    Callda the crusat bird came next. It was even uglier 
and more misshapen than Chainer remembered. He would have 
to ask Skellum about that when he got back-if he got back. 
Happily, Callda's skin was no tougher than it had been in 
the street outside Roup's, and Chainer punctured one of its 
wings with his chain and guided it to the ground like a 
failing kite.
    The rest of the shambling horde would soon be upon him, 
and the snake thing was preparing for another attack. 
Think, Chainer commanded himself. How could he control a 
dozen-odd monsters at once? He could kill some of them with 
the death bloom, he could cripple some more with a dagger 
to the hamstrings, and he could bind a few with-
    The tip of the snake-thing's claw cut the air in front 
of Chainer's face. It was no longer charging him headlong, 
but instead slashed at him with its long arms. It feinted 
and slashed, but Chainer stayed just out of its reach.
    A half-rotted zombie bear reared up behind Chainer, 
roaring through its skeletal jaws. Chainer cracked his 
chain like a whip across its remaining eye, and when the 
clumsy brute lunged at Chainer, it connected with the 
snake-thing. Enraged, the serpent ripped the bear's paw off 
in its teeth and then backhanded Chainer across the chest 
with its claws. Chainer nimbly rolled backward, pressing 
his shirt into the four razor lines bleeding beneath it.
    The wound was not serious, but it would force him to 
think and act faster before the loss of blood started to 
slow him down. The zombie bear and the serpent were tearing 
into each other, with the bear getting the worst of it. 
More creatures in the horde began to turn on each other, 
and Chainer wondered if he could let them reduce their own 
numbers and then conquer the survivors.
    Something small and ratlike clamped onto his calf 
muscle with a dozen tiny needle-sharp teeth. Chainer broke 
its back with his dagger and kicked the wretched thing off. 
The snake-thing finished with the last few ghastly parts of 
zombie bear and immediately began stalking Chainer again. A 
small swarm of glowing insects spat fire at Chainer, and he 
shielded his eyes from a cascade of sparks. A large pool of 
oily slime flowed over the dull stone ground, engulfing its 
fellow nightmares as it also homed in on Chainer. He 
backpedaled, keeping the horde in front of him with his 
arms spread wide and his hands empty. The creatures 
continued to advance, focused once more as a group on the 
stranger in their domain.
    Chainer exhaled. He thought he had the answer. It was 
an unfamiliar shape, and these were not ideal 
circumstances, but he had been making links and weights on 
his own for half his life. He'd been taught proficiency by 
an expert, then had become an expert on his own.
    The snake-thing was slower, almost playful in its final 
approach. The other nightmares gave it a wide berth as it 
hissed and grinned and clawed the ground. It was trying to 
get him to run, to play the role of prey. Chainer smiled at 
it, playfully showing it his empty hands.
    "Come on," he taunted. He tilted his head back, 
exposing his throat. "You'll never get a better chance."
    The snake-thing lunged. It was lightning-fast, but 
Chainer's hand was faster. He cast a chain at its neck, 
unlike any chain he had ever created before. It was 
malleable in flight, solid enough only to give itself 
weight. When it collided with the snake-thing's throat, it 
folded itself completely around the beast's neck, joined 
itself around, and tightened. The snake-thing stumbled 
forward, clawing at the choking collar, and Chainer pulled 
it right off its feet by yanking down hard on his end of 
the chain. The brute went face-first into the ground and 
fought with the unyielding metal around its throat.
    Chainer cast another collar around the fallen bird. He 
held neither of the new leash-chains in his hands. Instead, 
the ends of each hovered an inch from his open palm, 
following the hand's movement as if they were attached to 
it. With his hands thus free, Chainer was able to send 
collar after collar into the pack of oncoming creatures. He 
nimbly dodged any who came close enough to strike, and he 
sank sharpened weights into the bodies of those who broke 
or avoided the collars. He caught the shapeless mass as it 
flowed over another, more solid body, collaring both 
creatures with the same cast. As he leashed each monster, 
Chainer created a conduit through which he could drain its 
energy. He used this conduit to draw a portion of each 
thing's essence into himself, and the monsters invariably 
fell to their knees, fatigued, weakened, chastened.
    Chainer floated above the heads of the now-submissive 
creatures, borne on a wave of their stolen energy. He no 
longer felt the pain of his wounds, new or old. He spread 
his arms wide, with dozens of chains radiating out from his 
hands, each connecting a monster to its new master. Chainer 
howled.
    With a final surge of power, Chainer dispelled all of 
the leash-chains with the screech of metal on metal and a 
deafening boom. Chainer dropped to the ground and crossed 
his arms over his chest.
    The newly released creatures growled and grumbled and 
eyed him angrily, but none dared attack.
    "Get going," Chainer said. He brought his arm up, and 
when he brought it down, a ten-foot length of whip chain 
cracked among the creatures. "I'll call you when I need 
you."
    The sullen, confused mass began to move away from him. 
Some ran headlong, terrified of being collared again. The 
snake-thing was the last to leave, flicking its forked 
tongue and clawing the ground in front of it. It hissed at 
Chainer, sounding almost plaintive.
    "Go on," Chainer said. "But not too far. I've got plans 
for you later." He smiled unpleasantly, lost in childhood 
memories.
    The creature grunted, turned, and loped off. When they 
were all distant and tiny, the mist returned, gently 
swallowing Chainer from the ground up. Chainer loaded the 
censer, lit it, and began to whirl it around his head in 
short, slow circles. He had just earned the right to 
continue as Skellum's apprentice. He had faced down his 
oldest nightmare, and for the first time in his life, he 
felt like he had found a place that was entirely his own.
    He continued to casually spin the censer while he 
waited for Skellum to return and take him back to Cabal 
City.
 
                        PART TWO:
                         CASTER
 
                       CHAPTER 12
 
    The next few months went very well for Chainer. He 
thought him-self happy when the First praised him for 
delivering the Mirari and ordered Skellum to step up his 
train-ing. He was even happier, however, when he had been 
allowed back in the pits.
    After spending years in the dementist academy, Chainer 
was oddly comforted to be back among people who lived and 
died by their skills rather than their ability to lie. 
There was also a strange camaraderie among the contestants 
that Chainer never got tired of. You could be standing in a 
group waiting for your next bout, and when the starting 
horn sounded, the people around you could be your allies as 
easily as your enemies. Unless you had been assigned or had 
petitioned for a grudge match, you really had no idea who 
or what you'd be facing, or what the stakes were. Chainer 
had not seen war, but he imagined the silent, grudging 
respect pit fighters had for one another was like the bond 
that formed between soldiers during combat. Only in the 
pits, there were no uniforms to distinguish friend from 
foe, and the person who watched your back today would 
probably stick a rusty spike in it tomorrow.
    The Cabal's house pit fighters weren't even sure if 
they were allowed to win. The Master of the Games plotted 
and paired the results every match with the fixers, on 
instructions from the First himself. The most important 
thing was to put on a good show, to make people come back 
either as contestants or as spectators. If the Order were 
out in force and a string of humiliating Cabal defeats 
would lure them in, then the home team was instructed to 
embarrass themselves. When the First specified what kind of 
reaction he wanted from the crowd, the Master of the Games 
prepared it, and the Cabal fighters produced it.
    Chainer had never competed in the main pits before he 
met Skellum, so his matches were less structured, and he 
was free to fight as best as he could. His youth and his 
skill with the chain made him something of a novelty act, 
however, so he was often just outside the entrance in one 
of the show pits. At the time, Chainer had felt like he was 
fighting for his life, but he later realized he was only 
there to impress passing foot traffic. The Cabal had taken 
him in, trained him, housed him, and fed him, however, so 
he did his oath-bound duty and put on a show for the 
passersby. He took that time to master his technique, and 
before long he had amassed enough wins to impress the pit 
bosses, the Master of the Games, and, eventually, Skellum.
    His current return to the pits had been gradual but 
steady. In his first bout, an afternoon show that few 
spectators attended, he tore through a team of slow-moving 
zombie wildcats with just his chains and dagger. When the 
pit bosses released a maddened coal-bellied razorback at an 
evening exhibition two days later, Chainer kept away from 
it and spun his censer until he produced the snake-thing he 
had mastered earlier. It tore the smoking, red-hot boar 
into little bits and then swallowed the pieces whole. The 
snake-thing turned on Chainer with murder in its eyes, but 
Chainer quickly collared it once more and brought it to 
heel.
    With each match he was making a name for himself. 
People were starting to notice his eclectic style, and more 
and more people filed in to watch him fight. Most dementia 
casters in the pits were armed only to keep their creations 
in line. Even the ones who knew how to fight were casters 
first and warriors second. Chainer could engage his 
opponents directly from the outset and then surprise them 
with an unexpected monster, or he could send something 
nasty at them to test their abilities and then exploit any 
weaknesses with his chain and dagger. Word started to 
spread that the young dementia caster was undefeated since 
returning to the pits. The quality of Chainer's competition 
increased, and Chainer's control and winning streak 
increased tight along with them.
    When he wasn't in the pits he was with Skellum, 
meditating and breathing and mastering his own dementia 
space. Each creature he faced in the pits left an 
impression on his eyes, his ears, his memory. At night, 
those impressions churned and bubbled in Chainer's sleeping 
head, and when he awoke, there were more nightmare denizens 
of the world with the black sand and the hole in the sky. 
Some nights he would retire after dinner and lie in a 
deathlike state until midday, and others he spent in a 
fitful, restless state of agitation. No matter how long he 
slept or how deeply, he always dreamed of monsters. The 
largest of his pets was still only slightly larger than 
human, but Skellum was pleased with his creature's 
durability, detail, and speed.
    His mentor was also pleased that Chainer was following 
his instructions to the letter. Skellum worked him hard to 
keep him grounded in the day-to-day events in Cabal City, 
and he seemed satisfied with Chainer's progress. The old 
man had not mentioned the mental strain of dementia casting 
in weeks. The only objection
    Skellum had to Chainer's success was that his pupil was 
obliged to abandon the designation "apprentice" in favor of 
"dementia caster."
    "I didn't train a mere caster. Casters work in the mud 
and the blood of the pits," he huffed. "I train dementists. 
Dementists do important, detailed work for the First. And 
we know all the best people."
    Chainer laughed at the old snob and tried to smear some 
of the dirt from the pits on his hat.
    "Let me be a caster for a few more months," he said. "I 
like it."
    Skellum blocked Chainer's grimy hand with his cape. 
"Don't touch me, you clod. I have a dinner engagement at 
the manor tonight."
    "With some of the best people, no doubt."
    "Indeed. And you'd do well to wipe that smirk off along 
with the dirt. You're invited, too."
    "Is it the First?" Chainer said, suddenly interested. 
"Is there news of the Mirari?"
    Skellum scowled. "No, then yes." When Chainer looked 
confused, he went on. "The Master of the Games wants a sit-
down with you and me to plan for this weekend's event. 
Apparently, there's a couple of tough nuts coming in from 
the mountains, and he wants you to attend to them 
personally."
    Chainer wrinkled his nose. "Does that mean I have to 
baby-sit another barbarian?" His eyes brightened. "Or has 
Kamahl returned? I'd like to place a few bets on him, make 
some extra silver." He tugged absently at his ragged 
clothing. "I could use a new suit."
    "That's my boy," Skellum said happily. "I'll take you 
along to my tailor. Never forget worldly delights, my boy. 
They should be the reason you fight so hard."
    "Master," Chainer said dramatically. "You mean that 
serving the Cabal isn't reward enough?"
    Skellum narrowed his eyes. "You have always had a smart 
mouth," he said. "And no, service is not its own reward. 
Neither the First nor Kuberr himself have ever said 
otherwise. We serve the
    Cabal, but the Cabal also serves you. That's how it 
works. That's why it works. Remember it."
    Chainer nodded. "Right now, I'm feeling pretty well 
served. And after I clean up and join you for dinner, I'll 
feel even better."
    "Agreed," Skellum said. "Meet me in the master's parlor 
in an hour. He'll meet us there."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer sat in stunned silence as the Master of the 
Games prattled on. She was different from the master who 
had directed the games that had been interrupted by the 
dragon attack. No one spoke of him or his absence, and 
Chainer decided not to ask.
    He shot an aggravated look over at Skellum. His mentor 
seemed calm and collected, but Chainer could tell he was 
not happy, either. Chainer waited for the new master to 
take a breath. When she did, he broke in.
    "So you're saying I have to lose." He had never been 
asked to throw a match before. He was finding that he 
didn't like it.
    "Not in so many words," the master said. She was a tall 
woman, with a tight, pinched face and her hair pulled tight 
against her skull. "We want the Cabal to make a good 
showing. But this pair has worked their way up through all 
the lesser pits between here and the mountains. They 
haven't lost yet, but we haven't been able to give them 
what they want."
    "What do they want?" Skellum asked. He was keeping a 
close eye on Chainer, watching for any sign that his pupil 
was losing his temper.
    "Oh, she's looking for her brother or something. The 
last she heard, he had come to fight in the pits. She and 
her dwarf keep beating the best we can throw at them, but 
so far nobody knows who she's actually looking for, or if 
we know where he is. He might be dead. He probably went 
into debt and is working it off in the side pits or in the 
flesh mills. Most barbarians can't resist betting on 
themselves to win." She smiled unpleasantly.
    Chainer kept his voice neutral, but he saw Skellum note 
his renewed interest. "Barbarian?"
    "Yes," the Master of the Games checked her roster. 
"Apparently, both brother and sister are from a tribe in 
the Pardic mountains. She's got an elderly dwarf as her 
partner. They seem to have worked together before, because 
they make an excellent team. Undefeated so far." She raised 
her eyebrows at Chainer. "Just like you. Think of the 
crowds, little brother. The Cabal's best against the 
toughest thing ever to come out of the hills this year."
    "I think I know her brother," Chainer said.
    The Master of the Games smiled. "That must be why the 
First gave me your names. I wasn't going to mention it 
unless I had to, but this directive comes from the First 
himself. You are to fight the pair from the mountains. The 
First wants them to get the information they've already 
earned, but we can't just hand it to them. So we're going 
to let you square off against them, put on a good show, and 
then let them walk away feeling victorious."
    Chainer looked at Skellum again. He smiled. "What's in 
it for me?" he asked. Skellum fiddled with his hat to hide 
his smile of pride.
    "For you, little brother? You get to do your duty for 
the First and the Cabal. What else did you expect?"
    "He expects compensation," Skellum broke in. "His 
undefeated record has value. You're asking him to throw it 
away. It's only fair that he get something in return."
    The master's eyes darted back and forth from Chainer to 
Skellum. "What do you want?"
    Skellum started to speak, but Chainer stopped him with 
a raised hand. "If I'm supposed to provide information, I 
want that information. The Cabal has informants everywhere. 
I want to know what happened to Kamahl the barbarian after 
he left Cabal City. I want to know where the Mirari is. 
And," he winked at Skellum, "I want a cut of the proceeds 
from the match. The betting tables will be busy when we 
fight. I want my share."
    The master's eyes gleamed. "Done," she said.
    "We serve the Cabal," Skellum said.
    "And the Cabal serves us," Chainer answered. "Now, 
then. Let's start with where my barbarian friend went. We 
can figure out what I'm supposed to tell his sister after 
that."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Veza never received a courier with false information 
for Ambassador Laquatus. Within two tension-filled weeks of 
presenting her idea to Empress Llawan, Veza was awakened a 
few hours before dawn by a ripping crack of thunder from 
her living room fountain. Veza had reassumed her legs the 
day after she last spoke to the empress. She climbed out of 
the tub and ran into the room.
    Two cephalid imperial guards were already floating in 
the air beside a glowing disk of energy that used to be 
Veza's fountain pool. They were enveloped in liquid blue 
energy that kept them alive and upright as a third guard 
came through the portal. The two floating guards assisted 
him and two more like him into the water. Veza heard the 
crackle of portal transit, quickly bowed her head, and 
heard a large splash. She remained bowed until one of the 
floating guards touched her on the shoulder.
    "Your empress awaits," he said. Veza rose, nodded to 
the guard, and stepped gracefully into the tide pool.
    Empress Llawan floated deep, ten feet below the surface 
at the very limit of Veza's pool. The three tailed merfolk 
guards floated in formation above her, constantly scanning 
every possible avenue of attack. They eyed Veza as she 
descended, but let her pass without comment.
    Veza lowered her eyes. "Empress."
    "Director Veza. We require your assistance."
    "I am at your service, Empress."
    "We had our finest mind-rider investigate your notion 
of eavesdropping on Ambassador Laquatus's link to his 
familiar.
    "Your hypothesis proved correct, Director," Llawan 
continued. "Congratulations."
    "Empress," Veza flushed.
    "In fact, it proved even easier to interpret the 
signals than you projected. Our expert was able to see 
Laquatus's thoughts quite easily. He has but one thing on 
his mind lately, an extremely powerful artifact called the 
Mirari."
    Veza nodded. "I had heard such an artifact was 
uncovered recently. That kind of news even reaches Breaker 
Bay."
    "It was in the hands of the Gabal patriarch. Laquatus 
happened to be visiting when the artifact arrived. He has 
done little but connive after it ever since."
    Veza started to understand. "Has the Ambassador 
acquired this artifact?"
    "No. Currently, it is in the hands of the Order."
    Veza wondered why the empress didn't seem happier about 
this development. "Is that acceptable, Empress?"
    "Barely. The Order are honest and try to be righteous 
in all things. They are like jellyfish in the hands of 
someone like Laquatus. It can only be a matter of time 
before he spirits it away through violence or deceit."
    Veza waited for the empress to continue. When she 
didn't, Veza said, "Then Laquatus will bring the artifact 
to Aboshan." Llawan stared at her for a moment then clicked 
out a sharp series of screeches to the guard above. The 
guard checked an instrument strapped to his wrist and 
nodded to the empress.
    "The crystal did not glow, my empress. She is 
concealing nothing."
    Llawan clicked again, and the guards swam off, out into 
the bay and well out of earshot. They maintained a clear 
line of sight on both Veza and the empress.
    "Forgive us, Director," Llawan said, "but we had to be 
sure. If you had lied just now, that crystal would have 
flashed. I have negotiated many a favorable treaty with it 
by my side."
    Veza simply stared uncomprehendingly.
    "We can never be too careful when dealing with 
Laquatus. But now we must be completely frank with you. 
Aboshan already has the Mirari. Somehow the ambassador 
managed to get the Mirari away from the Order and into 
Aboshan's clutches without actually ever taking possession 
of it himself. The man's an idiot."
    "So Aboshan has the artifact?"
    "Yes."
    "And the empress is worried that he will use it against 
her?"
    Veza was shocked when Llawan laughed out loud. 
Cephalids made a high-pitched, staccato chattering when 
they laughed. It was too much for Veza. She burst into 
laughter as well.
    Llawan quickly regained her composure. "If only that 
were our main concern! Aboshan collects artifacts, but he 
doesn't understand them. He wouldn't know what to do with a 
powerful artifact if it came with a guidebook and a tutor. 
If he gets his tentacles on the Mirari, he'll probably try 
to eat it.
    "No, Director, we are concerned with what Laquatus will 
do once he has the Mirari. He claims to be working on 
behalf of the emperor, but he is a greedy and grasping 
child. It must truly gall him to see the prize that he so 
badly wanted in the hands of an oaf, and to know that he 
has no chance of wresting it free. If the thing is as 
powerful as they say-if it is as powerful as my mind-rider 
senses, then Laquatus will not allow Aboshan to have it for 
long. And when he gets it, the next obstacle between an 
ambassador's sash and the imperial cap is poor, exiled 
Llawan."
    Veza's humor quickly cooled and vanished. "What will 
the empress do?"
    Llawan extended a tentacle and gently took Veza's hand. 
"We will gather around us those who have served us well. 
Those who have served us loyally." She dropped Veza's hand 
and brought her other forelimb forward. On the end she wore 
a sharpened spike of whale's tooth. "And we will confront 
the oaf Aboshan. If we can push him, keep him furious and 
fearful of a renewed civil war, then he will cling tightly 
to his new toy and never allow Laquatus to take it. The 
harder the ambassador tries, the tighter Aboshan's grip 
will grow, and neither of them will be able to use it 
against us. Eventually, Aboshan will have Laquatus killed." 
She smiled a politician's smile. " It is never a good idea 
to be too ambitious when the emperor is feeling insecure.
    "We ask you to come with us now and stand by our side 
in the court of the emperor. We ask you to declare yourself 
as our subject, and to represent our interests. You are 
wasted here in Breaker Bay. Worse, you are insulted by it. 
Come with us now, and be our subject. We have thirty 
executives like yourself and another dozen cephalids of 
noble birth. We will present ourselves to the emperor and 
petition him for permission to secede from his empire."
    "He will certainly refuse."
    "He must. But he will observe the formalities of 
government. He will cite the existing treaty between us. He 
will bluster and threaten. He will try to have us killed by 
assassins, and try to have us executed publicly as 
traitors. And all that will buy us time."
    "Time, Empress? Time for what?"
    "To take control of the situation. To drum up more 
support among the oligarchs and nobles. To turn Laquatus 
and Aboshan against each other and divide their strength. 
To take this Mirari for ourselves and rid Mer once and for 
all of oafs and knaves."
    Veza looked up at the surface of the pool above her 
head. Beyond it was her cottage, her paperwork, and her 
depot. Beyond that, the village and all its human 
inhabitants, with all their human tics and prejudices. And 
somewhere far beyond that was Aboshan, who cared only for 
the commerce and not at all for the people who conducted it 
in his name.
    "I am yours, Empress Llawan," she said. "What would you 
have me do?"
    Llawan smiled. "Come with us now. We are taking a water 
portal back to our city, where the imperial transport is 
being prepared for the journey north. En route, we will 
discuss statesmanship and strategy."
    Veza nodded. "There are a few items I would like to 
bring along."
    "Personal items, Director? This is a time for leaving 
things behind and starting over."
    Veza bowed. "Documents, Empress. Information that may 
prove useful to our cause." She raised her eyes and met 
Llawan's. "And I am Director of Breaker Bay no longer."
 
                       CHAPTER 13
 
    Chainer caught sight of the pair from the same vantage 
point  he had first spotted Kamahl. He recognized KamahPs 
sister Jeska and the dwarf Balthor from the descriptions he 
had and the fact that they arrived together. Now that he 
saw her, he thought he could have recognized Jeska  as  one  
of Kamahl's kin without forewarning.
    She was of medium height and build, but she had 
Kamahl's blazing red hair and brass colored skin. Where 
Kamahl's was cropped close to his head, Jeska wore her hair 
long, braided dwarf style into hundreds of finger-thick 
strands. Each braid was interwoven with ribbons or hide or 
polished stones, and she had gathered them all in the 
middle of her back with a heavy iron clip. Chainer 
recognized a weighted whip when he saw it, but he was 
impressed with how casually she wore a weapon that most 
fighters wouldn't recognize.
    She also wore a peculiar metal gauntlet that covered 
her left forearm. It was etched with runes but unpolished, 
with two small horns at the wrist edge. It looked like a 
miniature slingshot, but Chainer couldn't quite credit the 
whole thing as a weapon. He reasoned it was either a sword 
baffle or some other sort of protective armor.
    Finally, she carried a wooden baton that was 
intricately carved and ringed with metal. It was about as 
long as her arm, and it looked extremely solid. Her muscles 
lied about it, as well, effortlessly concealing how dense 
the baton actually was. In addition to the decorative metal 
rings, Chainer guessed the baton also had a metal core to 
give it extra punch.
    Jeska carried herself and her weapons with extreme 
confidence. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, her jaw 
was set, and her pace was so stern it seemed more like a 
march than a hike. She didn't even glance at the dwarf by 
her side, though he matched her stride for stride and never 
fell out of her peripheral vision.
    Balthor was built like all dwarves Chainer had seen, 
short and broad and gnarled as a stump. His long beard was 
split into two equal points that fell to his waist, and he 
wore an ornate headdress with a large red gem at the 
center. Instead of a fighting axe, he carried some kind of 
axe-staff that was neither completely weapon nor completely 
walking stick.
    The strange duo was met at the gate by a Cabal 
representative and escorted into the arena. Chainer waited 
until the door had shut behind them before he turned from 
the window and made his way down to the pits.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Several hours later, an oily-looking fixer met Chainer 
on the staircase.
    "You Chainey?" the fixer said. "Chainer."
    "Whatever. Come on, let's go. You're on."
    The fixer's attitude annoyed Chainer. "What's the 
rush?"
    "They are. The woman's insane, and the dwarf is really 
cranky. They say they're going to fight now, or they're 
going to start wrecking the place."
    "So? Turn some stalkers and some hellhounds loose on 
'em. The Master of the Games said-"
    "The Master of the Games just said you should get your 
butt down to the main pit." He held out a sealed scroll. 
"See that? It's official. Now come on."
    Chainer stood perfectly still. "What's your name, 
sunshine?"
    The oily Cabalist sneered. "Louche," he said.
    "Bet all you have on me, Louche. I can't lose."
    "Is that so?"
    "It is."
    "Thanks, kid." Louche had a sarcastic tone that never 
wavered. Chainer couldn't tell if the fixer knew he was 
being misled, or if he just didn't care. He gave up trying 
to argue with a person who negotiated for a living and fell 
into step behind him.
    Louche led him down the main pit floor. The stands were 
full, everything seemed ready to go. His opponents waited 
on the far side of the circle.
    "Good luck, kid," Louche said, already distracted and 
moving on to his next assignment.
    "You mean that, Louche?"
    "Sure. Why not." Louche didn't even look up as he 
disappeared into the crowd.
    Overhead, the prep horn sounded, and Chainer lit his 
censer. It was to be a straightforward flag match, two 
against one. Jeska and Balthor would attempt to take or 
destroy the simple black pennant that was spiked into an 
eight-foot-tall mound of packed dirt behind Chainer. 
Chainer would defend the flag. In this case, that meant he 
would try to stop them but would fail as convincingly as 
possible.
    In the distance, Chainer heard his match being 
announced, the usual build-up of the fighters and the 
standard teasers about blood and danger to whip up the 
crowd. Chainer scanned the rows and rows of eager faces. 
The smoke was getting thicker around him, and he fought 
back a rush of dizziness. "Game on," he whispered. He had 
to stay focused.
    The starting horn sounded, and Chainer's opponents came 
straight at him. They moved well, but they were terribly 
out of sync with each other. Balthor strode forward with 
his head and his staff held high, taking strides as smooth 
and as grand as his stature allowed. Jeska, on the other 
hand, was hunched low into a battle crouch, her hands free 
and empty at her sides. Her baton was ready at her hip, and 
she kept one hand near it as she stared fixedly at the flag 
behind Chainer.
    "Let's finish this quickly." Chainer heard Balthor's 
impatience through the dwarf's clenched teeth.
    "Just hold up your end," Jeska growled back, "and stay 
out of my way." They were attacking together, but they were 
not a team. Chainer decided to exploit that.
    As they had no long-range weapons, Chainer waited until 
Jeska and Balthor were a stone's throw from the mound. Then 
his eyes rolled back in his head, he shuddered, and he 
threw his arms out, palm-up, at Balthor. There was a flash 
of black light, and for the briefest moment a purple ring 
of energy flickered. Through that ring came a three-foot 
dragonfly with a scorpion's tail. Its multiple wings buzzed 
with the fury of a full swarm as it shot high above the 
arena floor and then dove straight down at Balthor, its 
stinger poised for the kill. Chainer wanted to test himself 
against Kamahl's sister, and the dragonfly would keep the 
dwarf busy. The insect would bedevil and sting until the 
dwarf hacked at it with his axe or his fists. If he injured 
it, its sticky blood would spurt and foul whatever part of 
Balthor it touched.
    As Chainer expected, Jeska completely ignored the 
threat that was ignoring her. As the dragonfly homed in on 
Balthor, she continued straight on at Chainer. Her 
movements became much sharper and quicker once the action 
began, and her approach became more like an acrobat's 
tumbling run. Chainer ditched the censer and drew his 
dagger, waiting, his stance inviting Jeska to attack.
    Behind Jeska, Balthor stood straight as the dragonfly 
swooped down on him. The gem on the dwarf's headdress 
glowed, and red fire leaped from the gem to the blade of 
his axe-staff. Chainer could see Balthor's lips moving. His 
eyes were shut.
    A blast of flame erupted from the head of Balthor's axe 
and burned the dragonfly to ash in midair. Chainer stood 
shocked for just a moment, and then dove forward as another 
blast slammed into the ground near his feet. Before he 
could get up off his knees, Jeska was above him and her 
baton was bearing down on his skull. Balthor smugly crossed 
his arms.
    Years with the fighting chain had given Chainer 
extremely fast hands, and Jeska had badly underestimated 
his speed. He caught her baton in mid-swing, threw his 
weight backward, and tossed her back over his head with an 
assist from his boot. He held onto her hands, so she 
slammed painfully into the ground. Chainer released her, 
rolled, and came up with his hands in position. There was 
another black flash, and a second dragonfly buzzed out and 
oriented on Jeska. Chainer cursed for repeating himself. 
Skellum would never let that go. Chainer pushed the thought 
of his mentor aside, saw that Jeska had not yet regained 
her feet, and squared off on Balthor. He scooped his dagger 
up off the arena floor and dared Balthor to come forward 
with it.
    The dwarf could not blast Chainer with Jeska so close 
behind, but the gem on Balthor's head was still glowing. 
The old devil was clearly waiting for Chainer's next 
casting, so he could blast it to cinders. Chainer kept his 
hands in front of him to keep the dwarf's attention away 
from the flag. Instead of giving him a target,
    Chainer snapped his arm out and sent a weighted black 
chain singing into Balthor's headdress. The weight smashed 
through one of the glowing gem's supports and knocked it 
off center. The gem buzzed and stopped glowing. For the 
first time since Chainer had laid eyes on him, Balthor 
looked something other than haughty. He looked downright 
nervous, maybe even slightly embarrassed.
    "You broke his special hat," Jeska called. "He's going 
to be furious." Despite the dragonfly darting all around 
her head, Jeska seemed savagely amused. She was keeping the 
insect at bay with her baton and a vicious barrage of the 
most obscene threats and language Chainer had heard outside 
of the city docks.
    Chainer whistled. The dragonfly broke off and hovered 
in the air between them. Chainer jerked his head at 
Balthor, and the dragonfly buzzed hungrily toward the angry 
but still shame-faced dwarf.
    "So you're looking for your brother," Chainer said. 
Jeska was not being drawn in by his stance. She had seen 
him sling a chain at Balthor from twenty feet away, and she 
didn't seem eager to let him do the same to her.
    "I am. You know where he is?"
    Chainer sheathed his dagger, touched his hands 
together, and pulled a ten-foot length of chain with a 
smooth, weighted end out of thin air. He held the chain out 
for her to see, then started it dancing around himself.
    "I know where he went," Chainer said.
    Jeska maintained her stance, daring Chainer with her 
baton as he had dared Balthor.
    "I guess that means I shouldn't kill you," she said. 
"Tell me, and we can end this now."
    Chainer began to circle around Jeska, his weapon in 
constant motion. "Let's come to an arrangement, you and I," 
he said. "I have information you want, you have information 
I want. If you agree to share, I'll let you walk right past 
me." He looked around the arena. "After we put on a good 
show, of course."
    "I'm not making any deals with you, Cabalist," Jeska 
spat. "For all I know, that's what my brother did, and 
that's why I can't find him."
    Chainer flicked the weighted end at Jeska, who easily 
batted it aside. "He left here free and whole. I can tell 
you where he went. Will you tell me where he came from?"
    Jeska lunged at Chainer with her baton. He ducked under 
it, and slashed the iron pin out of her hair with his 
dagger. She looked totally shocked, then angrily shook her 
braids loose, spun her baton, and charged again.
    Chainer snarled the end of Jeska's weapon with his and 
tried to jerk it out of her hands, but the polished wood 
slipped free. Jeska spun under the chain and tried to drive 
the heel of her hand into Chainer's nose. Chainer dodged 
and then missed Jeska's knee with the weighted end on his 
return stroke. They traded feints and then held their 
positions, facing each other.
    "Look, barbarian," Chainer said. "A show of faith. Your 
brother is competing regularly in one of the minor pits to 
the north. Kamahl is alive and well."
    Jeska paused. "What's he doing up north?"
    Chainer relaxed but didn't lower his weapon. "Chasing 
after treasure."
    "You mean I've been halfway across Otaria looking for 
him, and he's not even lost?"
    "Seems that way."
    "How do I know you're telling me the truth?"
    "For Fiers's sake, Jeska," Balthor yelled. He was 
jabbing at the dragonfly with his staff, but he seemed more 
concerned about preserving the staff than he was about 
harming the insect. "Stop babbling and finish this! Did you 
forget the rules of this thrice-damned farce?"
    Chainer saw realization crowd the anger out of Jeska's 
eyes. She let out an ear-splitting war cry and heaved her 
baton at Chainer's head. While he was distracted, Jeska 
stuck her gauntleted arm straight out and sighted down it 
like a crossbow at the black pennant. She drew a smooth red 
stone from her pouch and touched it to the gauntlet between 
the horns. She spoke one word, and the horns sparked, 
igniting a thin stream of fire that stretched between them 
like a clothesline. Jeska drew the red stone back and 
prepared to release it toward the flag.
    "Wait," Chainer said. The gauntlet was a kind of 
slingshot, and if he didn't act quickly, Jeska would win 
the match before Chainer had gotten anything out of her. 
Chainer sent a collar chain slamming into Jeska's wrist and 
jerked her off-balance, so that she couldn't target the 
flag.
    Pulling Jeska away from her first target was a passably 
sound pit strategy, but Chainer immediately realized the 
flaw in his execution. As close as he was to her, once he 
pulled her off balance the only thing Jeska could fire her 
slingshot at was him. Jeska barked out an incoherent 
warning as the red stone flew. In the eight feet of space 
between Chainer's eyes and the oncoming stone, the missile 
transformed from a shiny, glasslike bead into a glowing 
ball of concentrated heat. Chainer's hands proved to be 
faster than his brain as he jerked his arms up to protect 
his face.
    His eyes slammed shut as a blast of heat burned his 
eyebrows away. He was temporarily deafened by the 
explosion, and the pain in his right arm was agonizing. The 
impact blew him back on his heels, but he didn't stagger or 
fall.
    "Held my ground, gods damn it," he heard his own voice 
say. He started to sway, his eyes still squinted and 
unfocused. He could barely make out the old dwarf and the 
brass girl as they stood, side by side, staring over at 
him. They were curious, but they were keeping a safe 
distance.
    Confused, Chainer looked at the flag, still untouched. 
He was helpless. Why weren't they finishing him off or 
climbing the mound?
    "Do you give, Cabalist?" Chainer could see her 
shouting, cupping her hands around her mouth, but he could 
barely hear her. He recognized her tone, however, as that 
of someone who knows the fight is over even if nobody else 
does.
    Chainer reached for his dagger, and a fresh wave of 
searing pain dropped him to his knees. His left hand seemed 
fine, but his right felt thick and vague and clumsy. 
Chainer held his arm up to get a better look at his hand.
    "Or not," he said out loud. His right arm ended in a 
charred, smoking stump. His hand was completely gone, and 
his forearm now ended two inches below the elbow.
    "Damn," Chainer said. He turned his dazed eyes on 
Balthor and Jeska. He looked back at his mangled arm. With 
an amiable smile, Chainer raised his arm and his stump over 
his head.
    "I give," he said evenly. Then he collapsed face-first 
onto the arena floor. The last thing he heard before he 
passed out was the sound of the horn signaling the end of 
the match.
 
                       CHAPTER 14
 
    Llawan's personal transport was a ninety-foot-long 
leviathan that had been specially bred, engineered, and 
enchanted to serve as a combination warship and yacht. Its 
insides were vast and hollow, with compartments that could 
accommodate air breathers as well as sea creatures. Its 
hide was thick and durable, and its head was hard and bony 
enough to ram through the sides of any wooden vessel. 
Specially trained handlers sat in the fore of the 
creature's skull and steered the ship based on orders from 
the captain and the view from a huge scrying screen.
    The creature had clear crystalline chambers grafted 
onto its sides and back where passengers could dine, chat, 
and enjoy the view. These cabins could be removed or, in 
times of emergency, broken off to protect the empress and 
her armed guards inside. Though it had no offensive 
capabilities other than its ramming skull, the creature was 
fast enough to escape even the swiftest pursuers.
    Veza eyed the clear wall that separated her cabin from 
the frigid depths of the ocean. She couldn't drown, and 
they weren't deep enough for the pressure to be a danger, 
but she was still uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because she 
knew that the passengers in the external compartments were 
considered expendable in case of attack.
    The closer the craft got to Aboshan's territory, the 
more somber the mood became. Nobles who had ignored Veza 
since coming on board suddenly felt the need to chat with 
her, to hear what she knew, to clutch at any straws she 
might offer. When they found she knew even less than they 
did, they moved on without another word. Veza was the only 
legged creature on board, at Llawan's continued request.
    Excuse me, honored guests. The voice was painfully 
loud, and echoed in Veza's head. Everyone on board seemed 
to have received the same amplified thought message.
    The Empress Llawan requests your immediate presence in 
the forward viewing pod. She will make a short address 
there. Please hurry.
    The gentle sense of forward motion eased, then stopped. 
The ship was no longer swimming toward Aboshan. There were 
murmurs and a few anguished questions, but no one knew what 
was in store for them. Were they turning around? Had they 
been met at the border by Aboshan's navy?
    The tubes that connected the external cabins were only 
wide enough for one humanoid at a time, so Veza and the 
other guests waited patiently to join the single-file line 
to the front of the craft. Veza was one of the last ones 
into the forward cabin. She stepped up to the doorway, 
which shimmered like the surface of a pool. She cleared her 
lungs and walked into the flooded chamber. Magic kept the 
water from running out into the hallway and flooding the 
next compartments.
    Llawan floated at the front of the chamber in complete 
regalia of scepter, skull-cap, and imperial robes. If 
everyone on board seemed anxious, it was because Llawan had 
commandeered all the confidence. Floating beside her was a 
small cephalid male with a hood pulled up over his head. 
His face was impassive, his eyes were closed. Llawan raised 
her forelimb for silence, and the room fell quiet.
    "Noble guests and loyal friends," she said. "We are 
mere moments away from a most impressive sight. We had 
hoped to address you before the event began, but we fear we 
shall have to wait. Please remain silent. And . . . watch." 
Llawan swam back a stroke, and presented the forward view 
with a grandiose wave of her tentacle.
    The guests watched in hushed awe. The ocean stretched 
out before them, a vast and uniform curtain illuminated 
only by the leviathan's lights. A full minute ticked by, 
and nothing happened.
    Then across the vast expanse ahead of them came a deep, 
booming crack. Veza felt it all over her body as the water 
around her vibrated. Some of the more sensitive cephalids 
keened in pain as their delicate skin reacted to the 
trembling sound. A pinpoint of light flashed in the 
distance and grew, taking up more and more of the view as 
it came closer and closer. It was a frothy light, blue in 
color, and it boiled like a cloud of steam.
    "The shock wave approaches, Empress." The hooded 
cephalid did not open his eyes, but he bowed his head when 
he spoke. The phrase "shock wave" set off a few startled 
cries, but Llawan's voice rang out loud and clear.
    "Stay where you are," she said. "We have brought you 
here to witness, and we will keep you safe. Olsham," she 
clicked to the hooded cephalid, and he nodded. Olsham began 
to croon a low, haunting tune that Veza found eerily 
soothing.
    "The Emperor Aboshan has just used the Mirari," Llawan 
said. "Our mind-rider Olsham has been closely monitoring 
the situation.
    His phenomenon is almost identical to the one which 
occurred ai Captain Pianna's headquarters mere weeks ago. 
Judging by the size of that-" Llawan pointed at the shock 
wave, which now filled the viewing window- "we would say 
that Aboshan's custody of the Mirari was no more successful 
than Pianna's."
    Llawan's guests digested this among themselves. Someone 
from the rear chirped, "So we're safe?"
    Llawan smiled. "From Aboshan? Yes. From that?" She 
pointed again. "Time will tell." She turned and clicked at 
Olsham, who bowed. The water around the empress swirled, 
and her shield defenders formed a rock-hard bubble with 
Llawan at its center.
    The cephalid mystic Olsham held one final syllable in 
his chanted song, folded all of his limbs into a 
complicated symbol-ges-ture, and slammed his beak shut with 
a clack.
    Just as the first edges of the shock wave started 
jostling the empress's craft, the hooded mystic released a 
flashing wave of energy that spread out in all directions. 
The blue-white light suffused the ship and its passengers 
just as the full force of the rampaging turbulence slammed 
through their location. Veza and the other guests stood 
amazed as water, debris, and the bodies of hapless 
creatures passed through their ghostly forms without 
meeting any resistance. It was if the leviathan had ceased 
to exist, but was looking on from the same vantage point. 
Even the water in the viewing chamber remained still as the 
storm raged around them.
    Many long minutes later, when the tumult had died down 
and it was safe for the ship to move again, the ghostly 
light retracted back into Olsham. He unfolded his arms, 
adjusted his hood, and sank down to the chamber floor.
    Llawan clicked at him. He clicked back, though his 
voice was low and ragged. Llawan clicked, offered him her 
tentacle, and he kissed it.
    "Aboshan is dead," she said. A nervous cheer went up, 
then faded into uncertainty. Llawan smiled. "And the Mirari 
is gone from Mer.
    We are not yet certain who has it, but we are certain 
of two things. Aboshan does not have it, and neither does 
Laquatus."
    A heartier cheer went up among the members of Llawan's 
party. When the empress held up a half-hearted tentacle for 
silence, the cheer redoubled.
    "The emperor is dead," someone shouted, "long live the 
empress!"
    Veza watched the other guests take up the chant.
    "Long live the empress! Long live the empress!"
    Veza herself was relieved, but she didn't feel like 
cheering. She wondered if Llawan meant the things she'd 
said back in Breaker Bay about removing all the oafs and 
knaves. Some of each were currently onboard.
    As she looked at the room full of ambitious nobles and 
greedy oligarchs, Veza hoped she'd have a chance to find 
out. She quietly edged out of the room, away from the 
celebration and back toward her room.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer stood in the courtyard of Skellum's academy, 
carefully twirling a censer around his head with his new 
arm.
    "Say that again," he said.
    "You asked me for an update about the Mirari. I told 
you. It destroyed Pianna, destroyed Aboshan, and flooded 
half the continent."
    Chainer whistled. "Which half?"
    "Okay, a third," Skellum admitted. "Everything between 
the upper border of the Krosan and the southern edge of 
Cape Paradise is now underwater."
    "And the Mirari?" he said, as casually as he could.
    "At this precise moment in time-" Skellum made a show 
of looking at the sun's position in the sky- "Caster Fulla 
is bringing it back here to Cabal City."
    Chainer kept spinning the censer, trying to get used to 
the pseudo-sensations his prosthetic arm was reporting to 
his brain. He had heard of Fulla. She was merely a caster, 
as Skellum would say, but one of the best. Chainer had 
never seen her compete, but he had spoken to a few who had 
fought against her. They were all glad to have survived the 
experience. Fulla brought out some frightful beasts, they 
said, but Fulla herself was scarier still.
    "So the First was right," Chainer said. "All who seek 
the Mirari are destroyed by it." He slowed the censer and 
brought it to rest by his feet. It continued to pump smoke 
into the air around Chainer. "Except me."
    "And don't think he's pleased by it," Skellum said. 
"The First liked dealing with Pianna. She was a rarity 
among Order officers. She kept her word, even when she gave 
it to hedonistic infidel criminals like ourselves."
    "Is the Order broken?" Chainer could not keep the 
hopeful joy out of his voice. He nodded to Skellum, and his 
mentor tossed a copper coin into the air. Chainer snapped 
the artificial arm forward and created a lashing chain that 
struck the coin cleanly and bent it in double.
    "Not really," Skellum said. "Bretath is still the 
highest-ranking officer on Otaria. Pianna's absence creates 
a power vacuum in this region, however, and there are a 
number of lesser officers looking to fill her shoes."
    "Do we at least get to bury the bird-man who stole 
Kamahl's victory?" Chainer practiced sending short lengths 
of chain out of his metal palm and drawing them back in 
again.
    "Kirtar? Yes. Dead, dead, dead. In fact, if he were 
still alive, which he isn't, he would have been named 
Pianna's replacement by acclamation."
    The air around Chainer was still thick with smoke. He 
concentrated, shuddered, and positioned his hands for a 
casting. A two-headed wolf sprang out from between his 
hands, its tail a spitting cobra that hissed back at 
Skellum. Chainer nodded, waved, and the wolf evaporated in 
mid-growl.
    "The arm seems to be working fine now." Chainer flexed 
it and examined his own wiggling fingers. "I've got to get 
used to the new feel of things, but I can do all the things 
I did before."
    "Let's hope you can't point projectile weapons at your 
own body anymore," his mentor said. "That's a skill you can 
do without." Skellum came forward and held out his hands. 
"Let me see."
    Chainer presented the arm, and Skellum looked it over, 
poking his fingernail into what would be muscles and 
pressure points on a flesh and blood arm. Except for the 
fact that it was made of metal and the fingers came to 
needle-sharp points, Chainer's arm was extremely lifelike. 
Between the steel gray of the arm itself and the polished 
black chrome of the brace he wore to keep it in place, it 
looked like he was wearing a basic warrior's gauntlet 
instead of a replacement limb.
    Affixing the arm had been torture. The arm, which the 
healer kept calling a "golem limb," had to be magically 
infused with part of Chainer's life force before it could 
be grafted on. The golem arm had then been fused to the 
remaining bones and flesh of his stump, and despite the 
pain, Chainer was obliged to sit perfectly still for three 
hours while the graft took root.
    "You can scream if you want to," the healer had said, 
but Chainer denied him that particular pleasure. Cabal 
healers were well known for their ability to get maimed or 
dying people back on their feet and into the pits. They 
were not known for their comforting bedside manner.
    Skellum released Chainer's arm and Chainer looked it 
over again himself. Cabal healers were also not known for 
their aesthetic sensibilities. Chainer had seen some 
hideous patch jobs in the pits. People with lobster claws 
instead of hands, legs fused or amputated to make room for 
stingers or spinnerets, heads that in no way matched the 
bodies they were attached to. Chainer counted himself lucky 
to get his new limb. It'd be just like Skellum to stick him 
with some dead bastard's reanimated arm. Zombie replacement 
limbs were far cheaper, easier to graft, and quicker to 
master than the metal one he was sporting. They tended to 
rot and stink, however, and had to be replaced at least 
twice a year.
    Chainer grunted suspiciously. His mentor was not above 
childishly taunting him to put him back in his place. But 
Chainer had missed a lot while he was convalescing, and 
Skellum had so far been stingy with details. Chainer had 
felt something shift each time the Mirari changed hands, 
but his senses weren't refined enough to tell him as much 
as the Cabal's informants could.
    "It looks good, Chainer. And try not to lose this one. 
Real arms are expensive enough, but the cost of replacing 
this one would be ruinous." He shook his head sadly. "You 
just don't have the silver."
    Chainer saw him sneak another look at the sun, then 
suddenly say, "All right. Ask me what the surprise is."
    Chainer had spent enough time with Skellum to become 
used to his mentor's rapid changes in subject. Politely, he 
said, "Master Skellum, what is the surprise?"
    Skellum waited, listening. Then the warning bell from 
the guard tower that overlooked Cabal City's port started 
ringing, audible even at Skellum's academy six blocks away.
    "The surprise is ... Fulla and the Mirari are arriving 
now, right on schedule. And your barbarian friend has been 
in the city for the past two days, waiting for them to 
return." He produced a small black towel from under his 
cape and offered it to Chainer. "Why don't you wipe off 
some of that sweat you've worked up, so you can go greet 
them?"
    Chainer snagged the towel on the end of his pointed 
fingers. Careful not to dig the sharp tips into his face, 
he wiped his brow and cheeks with the towel and dropped it 
lightly onto the floor. "Thank you, Master. Are you coming 
to the docks?" "No, I'm going to see the First. Once he 
receives Fulla and the
    Mirari, he wants to see me and the Master of the Games. 
Once he's done with us, he wants to see you."
    "How long have I got?"
    Skellum shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe an hour, maybe 
less."
    Chainer took a step toward the door, but stopped. "Am I 
dismissed, Master?"
    "You are dismissed."
    Chainer took one last second to lash a chain into the 
discarded towel and haul it in to his hand. With a bow and 
a flourish, he offered the towel to Skellum from his 
artificial arm.
    "Thank you again, Master," he said. "For everything."
    "Go on," Skellum took the towel. "Just try not to lose 
any limbs between here and the docks."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Just as he knew where to go to get the best view of the 
incoming pit fighters, Chainer also knew where to go to 
watch ships arrive in Cabal City harbor. He sat in a 
second-story warehouse window as Fulla's travel fish swam 
up. He felt almost smug, high above the small crowd that 
had gathered to gawk at the amazing creature, with the best 
view on the pier.
    The fish was whale sized, with transparent skin and 
organs. The only visible internal structures were its 
bones. A small dark-haired woman rode just inside the 
thing's stomach, leaning against its gullet on her elbows 
as she watched the fish swim into port. Her sword arm was 
scarred and slightly malformed, almost clublike. She wore a 
thick, short gladius on her hip and carried three daggers 
on the outside of her vest. Her skin was pale, her hair was 
short and unkempt, but her boots were polished and her coat 
well tailored. Apart from an extremely wild glint in her 
eyes, she carried herself at least as elegantly as Skellum 
did.
    Behind Fulla stood Ambassador Laquatus. He looked much 
the same as he did the last time Chainer saw him, only now 
he was not so smug or haughty. The voyage looked as if it 
had been a hard one for him. From the way he kept glaring 
at Fulla, Chainer guessed Laquatus would like nothing 
better than to dive straight to the bottom of the ocean 
with Fulla in tow and leave her there.
    Fulla's fish bobbed on the water near the pier for a 
moment. Inside of it, Fulla stood and then backed up a few 
paces. She got a running start, then jumped and waved her 
hands simultaneously. The fish faded from view while Fulla 
was in midair. Her leap carried her safely onto the docks, 
but the unprepared ambassador was dropped unceremoniously 
into the sea. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, 
but it quickly died as Laquatus surfaced and angrily called 
for assistance.
    The dock was thick with Cabalists. A handful stepped 
forward to haul the ambassador out of the water, but the 
majority hovered close to Fulla. Her reputation and her 
eerie, intense stare kept anyone from touching her, 
however, and they cleared a path as she walked toward the 
First's manor. Dripping, sputtering, and largely ignored, 
Laquatus fell in behind her.
    Chainer began to scan the rest of the crowd. It was 
clear that no one would dare interfere with Fulla on her 
way to the First, and Chainer felt confident that the 
Mirari was safe for as long as Fulla held onto it. He was 
hoping to catch a glimpse of Kamahl, but there was no sign 
of the big barbarian anywhere on the docks. It wasn't until 
he looked higher than himself that he found Kamahl.
    Like a mountain goat, Kamahl had scaled the outside of 
a building directly across the alley from Chainer and was 
watching the Mirari arrive from the roof. Chainer thought 
he looked too humorless. He seemed to have lost some of his 
natural joy for battle. Upon reflection, he couldn't blame 
Kamahl. They had both thought of nothing but the Mirari 
since it left Cabal City, but Kamahl had chased it halfway 
up the coast and back, and he still didn't have it. I 
haven't moved, Chainer thought, and in a sense it's being 
delivered back to me. He made a mental note to be sure and 
point that out to Kamahl as soon as the barbarian cheered 
up.
    With a shock, Chainer realized that Kamahl had spotted 
him. Chainer raised a hand in greeting, but Kamahl looked 
startled. Then Chainer remembered his arm.
    Chainer held the arm higher and flicked it, producing a 
high-pitched ding. "It's a long story," he shouted.
    Kamahl shrugged. He rolled his hands, indicating 
Chainer should elaborate.
    "You ever met a barbarian girl named Jeska?" Chainer 
yelled. "Braided hair, carries a baton?"
    Kamahl nodded.
    Chainer held up his metal arm. "So did I."
    Kamahl laughed and pointed to the ground. "Tell me in 
the tavern," he shouted back.
    Chainer shook his head. "I'm on duty," he said, and 
Kamahl shrugged again. He pointed down at the retreating 
figures of Fulla and Laquatus, and then resumed his 
humorless stance as his eyes bored into them.
    He's here for the Mirari again, Chainer realized. Jeska 
said he couldn't stop talking about it, and Chainer had 
seen his share of addicts and obsessives in the pits. 
Kamahl's expression was somewhere between a man who's been 
wronged and a man who's dying of thirst. There was 
something he needed, wanted, and meant to have all at the 
same time.
    Chainer felt a disquieting churn in his stomach. He'd 
wanted Kamahl to have the Mirari more than Lt. Kirtar. But 
he wanted the First to have it more than Kamahl. He flexed 
his golem hand and listened to the metal bend.
    Chainer took one last look at his friend, then turned 
and headed down the stairs. The First probably had three 
plans for the Mirari ready and waiting to be implemented. 
It was entirely possible that neither he nor Kamahl would 
ever see the Mirari again, much less fight over it. It was 
more likely that he and Kamahl would fight together in the 
pits as Balthor and Jeska had. In fact, Chainer was sure 
the Master of the Games would sanction such a pairing if he 
requested it.
    Chainer picked up his pace, his good mood restored. 
Besides, he thought, by now everyone knows what happened to 
Pianna and Aboshan. Kamahl and everyone else would 
eventually have to accept that no matter who won it, the 
Mirari belonged to the Cabal and would always come back to 
those who found it first.
 
                       CHAPTER 15
 
    "Ladies, gentlemen, and other," the overhead voice 
boomed. "Welcome to the main event."
    Chainer and Kamahl stood side by side, casually 
checking their weapons. Chainer loaded a charcoal disc into 
his censer and held it out to Kamahl. The  barbarian 
snapped his fingers and produced a tiny, explosive blast of 
flame that engulfed the charcoal. Chainer let the disc drop 
into the censer, loaded the Dragon's Blood in after it, and 
waited for the smoke to begin wafting upward.
    "Much obliged," he said. Kamahl grunted and nodded. He 
was not one for pre-match chatter.
    "Tonight," the announcer continued, "they're red-hot 
and blackhearted. They're going for their twelfth 
consecutive team win, a Cabal City record. They are the 
Cabal's own Chainer and Kamahl from the Pardic Mountains!"
    The cheers got louder with each match. Chainer waved 
his metal hand to acknowledge the crowd, but Kamahl ignored 
them. Now that he had spent some time with the big man in 
and outside of the pits, Chainer was getting a clear idea 
of the difference between barbarians and Cabalists. Kamahl 
only relaxed immediately after a match. Before and during, 
he hardly spoke a word and never so much as cracked a 
smile. Partnering with Kamahl had been hugely rewarding for 
Chainer, but it had also cured him of the notion that he 
should have been a barbarian. The mountain people were 
driven harder by their own nature than the average Cabalist 
was by the sternest overseer. Chainer mentally thanked 
Skellum for instilling a sense of discipline, but also the 
good sense to enjoy the time between fights.
    The announcer continued to drone on. "Our champions 
have their work cut out for them tonight, however. The 
Master of the Games has sanctioned this match as a grudge 
match, one with no restrictions. The contest is over when 
all the contestants on one side either yield or are 
incapacitated."
    "I wish they would tell us these things before we get 
out here," Kamahl grumbled.
    "That's part of the fun," Chainer said.
    "Requesting the grudge match, and representing the 
Order's late, lamented northern Citadel, please welcome 
Lieutenant Devon's crusat squad!"
    Lt. Devon was another aven warrior, and though his 
wings were stunted, Chainer fully expected him to fly with 
the aid of the Order's magic. He was armed with a long 
pike. The rest of Devon's squad consisted of two troopers, 
a white-robed mage, and a huge stone beast with the head of 
a lion and the body of a ten-foot-tall man.
    While the announcer continued with the introductions, 
Kamahl leaned over to Chainer and said, "What's a 'crusat?' 
Every toy soldier I meet these days calls himself crusat."
    Chainer was pleased that Kamahl was actually speaking 
before a match, and that the barbarian had used Cabal slang 
to describe the Order. It made them seem more like a team.
    "Crusat is a kind of holy war," Chainer explained. 
"They used to declare them every year or so, back in the 
days when they were trying to wipe us out once and for all. 
Pianna put a stop to all that, but now that she's gone, a 
few of their hard-liners have revived the concept."
    Kamahl grimaced. "So we're fighting a death match 
against fanatics with a spiritual grudge against you."
    Chainer nodded. "That's about the size of it." He 
smiled. "Should be fun, eh?"
    Kamahl grumbled. "I usually like there to be more of a 
reward waiting for me when I fight for my life."
    Chainer darkened. "As soon as the First offers the 
Mirari again, you'll get your chance." He nudged Kamahl. 
"What's that statue-looking thing?" Chainer asked.
    "They're called megoliths. Animated stone, or some such 
thing. I've fought them before."
    "Like a golem?" Chainer was eager for another crack at 
an Order golem.
    "Sort of. They aren't carved before they're animated 
like golems are. They just sort of... come into being in 
the shape they have. Watch the pieces," he warned. 
"Sometimes you can hack off a piece, and the piece keeps 
fighting."
    "Thanks," Chainer said. He gestured with his smoking 
censer. "Look, they're burning incense, too."
    Kamahl looked. "Seems more like a prayer ceremony to 
me. I think they're blessing the bird-man."
    "Think that'll make him fly?" Chainer said. He started 
spinning his censer around his head.
    "Probably." Kamahl's voice had gone flat again, 
indicating that his mind was not on the conversation. The 
prep horn sounded. The match was ready to begin.
    "You want the bird-man and the mystic or the statue and 
the toy soldiers?"
    "I'll take the statue. I want to see if it melts or 
burns," Kamahl drew his massive broadsword. "Watch the 
mage. She's not armed, so I expect she's got some magical 
surprise in store for us."
    "Done," Chainer said. The starting horn sounded. 
Devon's squad spread out, with the megolith in front and 
the troopers flanking it. The mage touched the lieutenant's 
wings, which burst into bright, glowing light. Devon 
yelled, "Attack!" and sprang into the air, trailing white 
light behind him. The mage stayed where she was, safely out 
of harm's way.
    Or so she thought.
    Chainer hardly needed the Dragon's Blood smoke at all 
anymore, but he liked starting the match with it because it 
partially hid his actions. While Devon was soaring 
overhead, looking for an avenue of attack, and the ground 
troops were marching forward, Chainer shuddered and 
unleashed a razor-clawed harpy with his metal arm. The 
filthy, screeching bird-woman dropped greasy feathers as it 
rose into the air, rushing to meet Devon headlong.
    Chainer then dropped his real arm down by his side and 
let a foot-long spider fall onto the arena floor. Chainer 
was sure no one noticed the arachnid as it scuttled to the 
edge of the pit and began making a wide arc toward the 
white-robed mage. In the pits, he thought, there is no 
place to avoid the match.
    Kamahl, meanwhile, had charged into the advancing wedge 
of Order members and started hacking. His blade bounced off 
the megolith with no visible effect, but Kamahl was fast 
enough and his strokes wide enough to keep both foot 
soldiers at bay while he tried to find a seam in the stone 
thing's hide.
    Chainer's harpy was doing better than he had expected. 
It had latched onto Devon's pike below the blade and was 
using its weight to drag the lieutenant down to the ground 
while it struck at him with her other claws. Devon tried to 
pound the harpy's grip loose, but it only clenched tighter. 
Chainer thought he knew why the officer hadn't simply 
dropped the pike.
    Right on schedule, Devon waved his hand and cast a 
spell on his weapon. The point of his pike burst into 
white-hot flame, which blinded the harpy and seared its 
flesh. It screamed and reflexively released Devon's pike. 
The aven warrior promptly drove the weapon clean through 
the harpy's body. The harpy twitched, and Devon let gravity 
tear the gruesome husk loose. En route to the ground, the 
harpy disappeared. The crowd roared.
    Devon wasted no time in celebration. He raised his pike 
overhead, screeched out a triumphant war cry, and dived 
toward Kamahl. As Devon dived, the megolith caught Kamahl's 
blade and then lowered its shoulder into Kamahl's chest. 
Kamahl grunted and staggered backward, but he managed to 
drop one of the foot soldiers as he went with an elbow 
across the bridge of the nose. Kamahl was now five feet 
away from the megolith and the remaining trooper, with 
Devon bearing down on him from above.
    "Any time you're ready, partner," he shouted angrily. 
Chainer laughed, and then there was a scream from the Order 
mage at the far end of the floor. Chainer's spider had 
leaped onto her face, and she was struggling to keep its 
inch-long fangs from piercing her flesh. Without the mage's 
assistance, Devon lost control of his forward motion. 
Instead of swooping down at Kamahl, Devon was now simply 
falling out of the sky. There was a ripple of laughter and 
applause from the spectators.
    "Leave the bird-man to me," Chainer readied a weighted 
chain. He whipped a smooth, rounded weight toward the 
falling aven. Devon tried to block the incoming chain with 
his pike, but he was off balance and out of position. The 
weight would have slammed into the point of his elongated 
chin, but Devon jerked his head aside at the last moment, 
and the heavy ball buried itself in his temple. Even 
Chainer winced at the sound.
    The rest of the squad hesitated as Devon crashed 
lifeless to the arena floor. Kamahl drew a throwing axe 
from his back, charged it, and let it fly. It slammed into 
the megolith's chest and exploded, knocking the megolith 
back a step and the remaining foot soldier off his feet. 
Kamahl weathered the blast like an oak in a summer squall.
    When the smoke and debris from the blast had settled, 
Chainer saw that the megolith was missing a huge scoop of 
stone from its chest. It was otherwise unaffected, however, 
and it resumed its exchange of blocks and blows with 
Kamahl. Annoyed, the barbarian sent a stream of liquid fire 
shooting from the end of his sword into the megolith's 
face, melting and distorting it. The stone beast pressed 
on. Like the golem that had killed Deidre, it really didn't 
need its eyes to fight.
    Kamahl inexplicably dropped his sword then, and Chainer 
saw a look of confusion cross his partner's face. Both foot 
soldiers were on their feet again, and Kamahl made one last 
effort to pick his sword up, but it wouldn't budge. He was 
forced to dive away from it as the foot soldiers slashed at 
him with their weapons.
    Chainer saw that the mage had managed to neutralize the 
spider and was in a prayer stance once more. She must have 
done something to Kamahl's sword. Chainer grew angry, both 
at himself for going easy on the mage, and at her for 
taking advantage of it. He positioned both hands and sent 
an eighteen-foot long python shooting across the arena. It 
latched onto the mage's arm with its venomless fangs and 
quickly wrapped her head and torso in its crushing coils.
    Kamahl seemed angry, too, angrier than Chainer could 
remember. Most things that made Kamahl angry didn't last 
long enough to make him really angry, but the megolith 
seemed to have driven him over the edge. With flames 
shooting from his hands, he grabbed one of the foot 
soldiers by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The 
man's flesh sizzled and popped until Kamahl threw him into 
his fellow trooper, tangling both men into a painful, 
confused heap. The crowd oohed. Then Kamahl leaped onto the 
megolith and wrapped his huge hands around the thing's 
head.
    "Kamahl, get off!" Chainer shook off visions of Deidre 
and readied another weighted chain. Kamahl was much faster 
than the megolith, however. He dug his superheated fingers 
into the stone giant's jawline, and Chainer saw two axe-
shaped bursts of red form inside the megolith's torso. 
Kamahl dropped off just as the megolith reached up to crush 
him. Kamahl dove away, rolled, and conjured a large 
warhammer in each hand. He charged back at the megolith, 
ducked under its crushing fists, and brought both hammers 
together with a boom.
    There was a seismic shudder that cracked the stone 
floor, and the axes planted in the megolith's chest 
exploded.
    This blast was different from the previous one. It was 
three times as strong, for one, and doubly constrained by 
the megolith's own body and the powerful vibrations caused 
by the hammers. There was a muted flash and a muffled boom, 
and a network of cracks raced across the whole of its body. 
Smoke poured from its half-melted mouth. It was standing 
completely still. The crowd was silent.
    "Chainer," Kamahl called. He pointed at the frozen 
warrior. "Give that thing one last tap, will you?"
    Chainer sent his weight straight into the thing's chest 
without hesitation. The dense crystalline creature had been 
transformed by the intense heat and pressure of Kamahl's 
magic into something far more brittle. When Chainer's 
weight struck it, the husk of the defeated megolith 
shattered into a fine, white sand that was littered with a 
few larger shards of broken glass.
    For a moment, there was no motion or sound on the arena 
floor. The foot soldiers were unconscious, Devon was dead, 
and the megolith was dust. Even the mage was completely 
helpless in the python's grip. If Chainer didn't call it 
off, she'd soon be a meal for a nightmare.
    A single pair of hands started clapping from the 
stands. The applause grew, louder and louder until it was a 
roar. The competing chants of "Chainer!" and "Kamahl!" 
began.
    "Your winners, ladies and gentlemen. . . . Chainer and 
Kamahl! This marks their twelfth consecutive win!"
    As the announcer prattled on, Chainer went over to his 
partner. Kamahl looked at him sullenly.
    "That was fun," the barbarian said, "but next time, you 
get the megolith."
    Chainer laughed and slapped Kamahl on the shoulder. 
"Agreed." As the crowd continued to cheer and chant, he 
took Kamahl's hand in his and raised them both high in the 
air.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Veza floated once more in the forward cabin of the 
empress's transport. She was alone, unaccompanied but for a 
handful of scribes and a quartet of Llawan's savage 
barracuda bodyguards. There were no air breathers on board, 
so all of the leviathan's internal and external 
compartments had been flooded for this fact-finding 
mission.
    Llawan moved quickly in the wake of Aboshan's death. 
She and her leviathan full of Mer aristocrats descended on 
the ruins of the imperial palace before the sand had 
settled, and she quickly installed herself at the hub of a 
rapidly spinning wheel of circumstance.
    While her servants led chants of "the emperor is dead! 
Long live the Empress!" in the public byways, her peers 
stirred up support among the rich and influential. Llawan 
herself addressed the population as a whole, rallying her 
subjects via magical broadcast and bulletins posted 
throughout the empire. Her message was direct: Aboshan was 
dead, and his policies should be interred with his bones. 
The widowed empress announced a lavish funeral for her 
husband to be held at an undetermined time in the future. 
On that same day she staged a rally wherein all of 
Aboshan's informers were chained at the neck and driven out 
of the capitol, and all his secret surveillance files were 
publicly destroyed.
    While the common citizen embraced her return, Llawan 
was less popular among the merchants and generals. The 
trading sector of Mer society had never done better than 
they did under Aboshan. As long as the imperial transaction 
tax was paid in advance, Aboshan's government was extremely 
friendly to all forms of commerce. He controlled the trade 
routes to and from Mer population centers, and those who 
paid for the privilege were allowed to move and sell their 
goods unmolested. All others were usually attacked by 
bandits-who wore imperial uniforms-beaten, and robbed down 
to the clothes they wore. Aboshan had made it extremely 
profitable to do business with him and extremely dangerous 
to do otherwise. For the pragmatic capitalists of Mer, it 
was a comfortable situation, one that they were not eager 
to change.
    So while Llawan held meetings and exerted influence and 
tested loyalties, Veza was sent to inspect the newly formed 
Otaria Chasm. By all estimates, an area of over a thousand 
square miles of land was now a half a mile below the 
surface, and the northern tip of Otaria had become an 
island. No one had done a complete survey of the new sea, 
but there were bound to be some human settlements, people, 
and animals who had been caught in the catastrophe. The law 
of the sea said that anything below the waves is Mer 
territory, however, and Llawan was eager to have this new 
addition to her empire explored, catalogued, and 
quantified. In the name of the empress, Veza was commanding 
the survey mission.
    A cephalid officer and Olsham the mystic swam into the 
chamber. "M'lady Veza," Olsham said. "We are approaching 
the chasm. It is time."
    Veza stared straight ahead. "I will return to the 
bridge once we've made visual contact." The officer swam 
out, and Veza floated alongside Olsham in silence while the 
mystic softly clicked and keened to himself.
    The great wound Aboshan had made in the above-air 
continent slowly materialized out of the murky waters 
ahead. Veza shook her head as Olsham's prayers increased in 
pitch and volume. The chasm was huge, so wide that Veza 
couldn't even see the opposite wall from where she stood. 
She remembered the shock wave that had passed through 
Llawan's transport. Whatever caused the cave-in must have 
forced millions upon millions of gallons of water out of 
the area. As soon as the initial force was spent and the 
ground had finished caving, those same millions of gallons 
had rushed in to fill the new valley.
    Olsham stopped chanting and opened his eyes. "Please 
excuse me, ma'am. I would like you to return to the bridge 
now." Veza started to object, but Olsham said, "Please. Go. 
I will perform the ritual alone."
    Veza nodded, then darted down the connecting chamber 
into the belly of the ship. The captain was waiting for her 
on the bridge. "We're ready to enter the chasm, ma'am. Is 
the spellcaster ready?"
    "He's performing the ritual now. How long till we get 
there?" "If we maintain our present course and speed, about 
half an hour."
    "That should be plenty of time. When Olsham is done, 
this ship will be Llawan's eye, recording everything that 
passes around it. The crystal gemstone Olsham had installed 
will store it. All we have to do is cover the distance, and 
the empress will have a complete and detailed survey of the 
area."
    The cephalid captain scowled. "I hope it's going to be 
that easy, ma'am. Any idea what we're going to find in 
there?"
    Veza shook her head. "But," she added, "nobody does. 
That's why we're here."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Olsham completed his telemetry ritual and teleported 
himself back to Llawan City shortly before the leviathan 
entered the chasm. The ship and the crew were in top form, 
and they made excellent progress through the first two-
thirds of the sunken zone.
    Veza knew the ship was collecting and transmitting 
volumes and volumes of information back to the empress, but 
as far as she could see, the canyon contained little more 
than a strong current and its own stark, rugged beauty. The 
forward chamber commanded impressive views of sunken rock 
formations and a remarkably wide assortment of colorful 
seaweed and small fish. She would have to study the data 
she had gathered, but unless there was some hidden 
treasure, the chasm was little more than a scenic cruise.
    "What in nine hells is that?"
    Veza had been spending most of her time on the bridge 
with the captain, helping him plot the best course for the 
empress's purposes. The scrying screens weren't as 
picturesque as the forward cabin, but the screens could 
provide a view in any direction. Currently, they were 
looking forward and starboard, where a large, shadowy form 
was coming straight at them.
    "It's a large animal, sir," one of the crew called out. 
"Undetermined species."
    "Captain," Veza said. "Is it a natural phenomenon? 
Could a large predator already have staked out a territory 
this far in?"
    The captain shrugged. "It's possible. Change course."
    "It's still closing, sir. Captain, I think it's a razor 
ray."
    The captain nodded grimly. "I think you're right."
    On screen, the huge, black manta grew larger and 
larger. It was almost as large as the leviathan, with bony 
spines alongside its head that jutted forward like horns. 
Its tail ended in a curved barb like a scorpion's and had 
two red poison sacs visible at the base. Veza knew these 
vicious animals had first been bred hundreds of years ago, 
when the dominant sea powers all employed living warships.
    The rays had become more specialized and horrible since 
then. Most leviathans had an innate primal fear of the 
rays, so that even they avoided being gored or envenomed, 
and even the larger ships often panicked and quit the 
field.
    "Can you give me a better view of its markings?" Veza 
said.
    "What for? Get out of my way, woman."
    Veza caught the captain by the shoulder. "Captain," she 
said. "This is still my mission."
    Grudgingly, the captain ordered a closer view of the 
razor ray. The monster's wings had been dyed royal blue, 
and its two longest horns had been capped with silver. 
Across its belly, it bore the Mer characters for "land" and 
"sea" all emblazoned over by a huge stylized letter 'L.'
    "Laquatus," Veza said. Then, in a louder voice, 
"Empress, if you can hear me-Laquatus got here first."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    The leviathan's handlers screamed a split second before 
the ship rolled violently.
    "We're hit, sir," called a crewmember. "A second razor 
ray just stung the carapace around the head. The leviathan 
was not hurt."
    "She's panicking!" one of the handlers cried. "Do 
something!"
    The ship launched into escape speed before the captain 
even gave the order. The cephalid handlers on the 
creature's brain were straining to keep her from fleeing at 
top speed until she was too tired to swim any farther.
    "Evasive action!" the captain yelled. "Go, helmsman, 
go!" The leviathan surged away from the second ray, which 
followed close behind. Farther on, the first ray remained 
out of the chase and out of harm's way.
    "Can we outrun them?" Veza asked.
    "For a short time, but we'll get tired first."
    "Can we fight?"
    The captain shook his head. "We can ram them, but their 
stingers won't miss again. They only need about five 
seconds of con-tact to kill a ship this size."
    Veza looked hard at the screen, then back at the 
captain. "How deep are we?"
    "Doesn't matter. They can go as deep as we can."
    "I don't want to go deeper. I want to go up."
    The captain clicked something derogatory. "This is a 
deep sea vessel, ma'am."
    "I know captain. But it's also a fish. Is this fish 
agile as well as fast?"
    "She can turn back on herself without missing a 
stroke."
    "Glad to hear it. Tell me, then, does this fish . . . 
breach?"
    Realization sparked in the captain's eye, and he smiled 
at Veza. "Helm," he called. "Point the nose straight up. 
Maximum possible speed." He swam over to the ship's 
handlers to make sure they understood precisely what was 
expected of them.
    The leviathan lurched and shot up though the chasm 
waters toward the surface. To Veza, it felt like gravity 
had shifted ninety degrees.
    "Give me an aft view." The screen showed the ray close 
behind, accelerating to keep up with the leviathan's sudden 
burst of speed.
    "We're almost at the surface, sir."
    "Forward view." The screen now showed the surface, 
rushing toward them like a great liquid field.
    "Maintain course and speed. On my mark, I want this 
vessel tucked and pointed straight down, back at the 
water."
    "Aye, sir." The leviathan broke the surface and shot 
high into the air. The screen showed a huge wash of spray 
and painfully bright sunshine. Clouds in the sky rolled 
around the screen.
    "Everyone hang on. Mark!"
    Guided by her handlers, the ship wrenched itself into a 
U, then snapped back into its streamlined shape with its 
nose pointed downward. Veza, two crewmembers, and a handler 
were tossed around the bridge like beans in a can. Gravity 
quickly overcame the ship's motion, and the leviathan 
dropped back toward the sea.
    Below, the razor ray had stopped just below the 
surface, confused about its prey's disappearance. The 
viewscreen showed a massive shadow fall over the submerged 
ray just before the leviathan's bony carapace came crashing 
down on it-with all twenty tons of leviathan behind it.
    The scrying screen went black until the captain barked, 
"Aft view."
    Behind them, the remains of the razor ray were no 
longer recognizable as anything that had ever been alive. A 
small cheer went up.
    "Back to your stations!" the captain said. Before the 
crew could regain control of the leviathan, however, a 
blue-green beam lanced out of the second ray, the one with 
the silver horns. The beam splayed across the length of 
Llawan's transport, though there was no immediate reaction.
    "Resume evasive action. Helm, get us deeper into the 
chasm."
    "Helm is not responding, sir."
    The captain swore. "Handlers?"
    One of the robed cephalids swam up. "The ship is 
entangled, sir. She is blocked on all sides and cannot 
move."
    "Damn." He looked angrily at Veza.
    "What's wrong?"
    "He's tangled us in sargassum. Whatever that spell beam 
was, it covered us in enough seaweed to choke this vessel 
dead in the water."
    Veza struggled to think of something, anything, that 
would help them. She was interrupted by Laquatus's 
amplified voice.
    "Greetings, Mer survey vessel. This is Laquatus. 
Prepare to be boarded."
    The captain lowered his head, then lashed out at the 
console before him. Veza steeled herself for a reunion with 
the ambassador. On the screen, a half-dozen more vessels 
and behemoths swam into view, each wearing the ambassador's 
standard.
    "And if the empress is by chance on board," Laquatus 
said, "let me add a hearty 'welcome' from the next Emperor 
of Mer."
 
                       CHAPTER 16
 
    Kamahl and Chainer stood before the First, in the 
public reception hall of the manor. The First was dressed 
formally, with full robes and headdress, and he sat on a 
tall throne surrounded by his hand and skull attendants. 
Skellum stood beaming between the First and the fighters 
with the Master of the Games behind him.
    "Twelve wins in a row," the First said. "Quite 
impressive."
    "Thank you, Pater." Chainer said. He nudged Kamahl.
    "Right. Thanks." The barbarian was clearly 
uncomfortable in such a fine room. He looked longingly at 
the door.
    "But now, I'm afraid, the winning streak must end." "Of 
course, Pater." "What?"
    Skellum and Chainer glanced at Kamahl. The barbarian 
was genuinely confused, on the point of becoming angry.
    "It's all for the best," the Master of the Games said. 
"We're going to put you two up against another crusat squad 
from the Order. They'll win, become bolder, and start 
sending more teams into Cabal City. People are nervous with 
all the changes in leadership around here. They like seeing 
simple fights they can understand and root for. A barbarian 
and a Cabalist going up against toy soldiers, over and over 
again. You win some, they win some. It's familiar to 
crowds. Comfortable."
    "I agree," Kamahl said, "but I don't lose on purpose."
    "We're the house team," Chainer spoke quickly to fill 
in the uncomfortable silence. "And the house never loses. 
Not in the long run."
    Kamahl made a rude noise. "That's dreck. If you don't 
win, you lose. Period."
    "Would it help," the First said calmly, "to think of 
this as a strategic withdrawal? You'd be letting the Order 
have a small victory, so that you can secure a larger one 
later?"
    Kamahl shook his head. "I don't fight to lose. I don't 
think I know how."
    The First steepled his fingers. "Not even if the larger 
victory we're waiting for includes the Mirari?"
    Chainer and Kamahl both perked up at the mention of the 
arti-fact's name. The Mirari hadn't been offered as a prize 
since Fulla brought it back from Mer.
    "You're planning another Mirari games, Pater?"
    "Yes, my child. And soon."
    "But we need the right kind of build-up," the Master of 
the Games broke in. "The Order has to feel there's a chance 
of them winning. If they take down our best two-man team, 
they'll be sure to come back."
    Kamahl shook his head again. "No deal." Chainer shot 
Skellum an agonized look, but Skellum could only look back 
with sympathy.
    "Forgive us, honored guest," said the Master of the 
Games, "but the team of Kamahl and Chainer is going to lose 
their next bout. It has been arranged."
    "Then the team of Kamahl and Chainer will not compete." 
Kamahl glanced at Chainer, then spoke to the First. "You 
have been an excellent host, Cabal First, but I am from a 
different tradition. I'm here to fight. I'm here to win the 
Mirari with strength, speed, and skill. When you decide to 
offer it up, I will be ready to work for it. But until 
then, count me out of these games you play to increase the 
audience and drive up the odds."
    The Master of the Games started to speak, but the First 
interrupted. "I am truly sorry you feel that way."
    "As am I. I mean no offense, but I was raised and 
trained never to do less than my best."
    "You are a barbarian of principles," the First said. 
"But if you are not going to support our agenda for the 
next games, I'm going to have to ask you to excuse 
yourself. We have Cabal business to discuss."
    Kamahl nodded, glanced at Chainer, and then stomped 
out, his heavy boots echoing down the hall with each step.
    When the footsteps had gone, Chainer said, "Forgive 
him, Pater." "There is nothing to forgive. He is set in his 
ways, and we must find someone else to fight in his place. 
I only regret that we won't be able to rely on him as an 
ally." "He is still our ally, Pater. He just-"
    "Chainer," Skellum interrupted. "We're not here to 
discuss your unwilling partner."
    Chainer's face fell. "No, Master."
    "Master of the Games," the First said. "Can Chainer 
alone deliver the result we're seeking?" "Yes, Pater."
    "Master Skellum. Is your pupil ready to provide that 
result? And will he survive it?"
    "Yes, Pater." Chainer and Skellum spoke together. 
"Nothing fancy," the Master of the Games told Chainer. 
"Just get in there and roll over. It doesn't need to be a 
good fight, it just needs to be an Order victory."
    "Understood," Chainer said.
    "Master of the Games, you are dismissed."
    "Thank you, Pater." She slipped quickly out of the 
room.
    Chainer stood nervously before the First. Skellum 
fiddled with his hat beneath his arm. The First watched 
them both through steepled fingers.
    "You have something to add, Master Skellum?"
    Skellum cleared his throat. "I do, Pater. Chainer has 
made excellent progress as a caster. There is only one more 
thing I can teach him, one more lesson before he graduates 
from my academy."
    Chainer fought off a gulp of surprise. This was news to 
him.
    "This would be the dementist's shikar you've 
mentioned?"
    Skellum began to walk back and forth, between Chainer 
and the First. "Yes, Pater. It is a rite of passage. A 
spiritual journey combined with a physical trial." He 
pulled himself up to his full height and spoke with as much 
dignity as he could muster. "It is something that separates 
dementists from mere casters."
    "I am familiar with the ritual. Yours was a great 
success, if I'm not mistaken."
    Skellum beamed. "Thank you, Pater."
    "And you believe your student is ready for this trial."
    "I do, Pater. As his mentor, I would want to accompany 
him. For the last time, of course. When we return from 
shikar, there will be nothing left for me to teach him."
    "How long does it take?"
    "Two days to walk to the site. Three days of trial. Two 
days to return."
    The First considered. "Very well. As soon as Chainer 
discharges his obligation with the Order, you and he will 
take a leave of absence from the pits. You will experience 
shikar."
    "Thank you, Pater."
    "Thank you, Master," Chainer whispered. Skellum glared 
at him, but winked also.
    "There is one final thing," the First said, "concerning 
the Mirari. Doubtless by now you are both aware that my 
predictions came true. The Mirari led to major upheavals in 
both the Order and Mer, and then it came back to us. I made 
one error, however. I expected the past few months to thin 
the field, as it were, but just the opposite is true. More 
and more people are following its trail, which will lead 
them here. This is both good and bad for the Cabal. Even as 
we speak, the crusat death squads are reforming in an 
effort to drive us out of our strongholds. Cabal City, 
Aphetto ... even our minor pits in no-name villages are 
being targeted. They make the same old claims. We corrupt 
the innocent, mock the law, and generally impede the 
Order's righteous progress.
    "The era of coexistence is over. When you return from 
shikar, you both will assist me in neutralizing the crusat 
threat." "With pleasure, Pater."
    Skellum whispered teasingly to Chainer, "A dementist at 
last." "Ambassador Laquatus also continues to seek the 
Mirari. Today he contacted one of the crusat officers to 
sound him out for an alliance against us. It would be best 
if we could fix his attention elsewhere while we sort out 
the Order problem ourselves." "We could postpone shikar, 
Pater."
    "No, Skellum. Chainer's apprenticeship is over. It's 
time we made that official."
    "You have something in mind, Pater?"
    "I do. Since Laquatus will not stop complicating the 
situation until he gets a crack at the Mirari, I will 
announce the next games immediately. They will be held in 
three month's time, to coincide with the anniversary of the 
founding of Cabal City. The Mirari will be the grand prize, 
awarded to the strongest fighter in the pits. Laquatus is 
currently in need of a thrall. Apparently his amphibian was 
killed along with Aboshan. With the games scheduled, he 
will redouble his efforts to find a replacement thrall. 
This alone would not be enough to occupy a busy mind like 
Laquatus's, but this on top of... other circumstances I 
have yet to arrange ... it will more than suffice.
    "Chainer, I want you to meet with the ambassador to 
determine what sort of creature he wants. Promise him 
anything, but do nothing without my permission. In three 
days you and Skellum will begin the shikar. We will ask 
Laquatus to wait until you return before you create this 
new thrall for him."
    "Laquatus will have more and better options for his 
thrall after Chainer experiences shikar," Skellum said.
    "So much the better. Chainer. You have been a valued 
and trusted servant of the Cabal. Are you ready to be 
rewarded and carry our cause even further?"
    "I am, Pater."
    "Outstanding."
    The First waved his hand dismissively. "The Cabal is 
everywhere," he said, "and so are my thoughts. You may 
leave me now to my meditation, my children."
    The First watched Skellum and Chainer go through dry, 
milky eyes. Before they were even out of the room, his 
thoughts folded in on themselves as he dissected each 
infinitesimal bit of information.
    Apart from Kamahl's refusal, everything was right where 
the First wanted it. The barbarian was absolutely 
devastating in combat and always made for a good show. He 
was also useful as an influence on Chainer. Skellum was in 
danger of spoiling the boy, blunting his killer instinct. 
Kamahl encouraged that rough, pragmatic side of Chainer, 
qualities he was going to need over the next three months.
    The First came back to himself. Yes, the longer he 
considered it, the more sure he became. Skellum should 
stand aside and let Kamahl complete Chainer's training. 
With his mentor at his side, Chainer would simply become 
another Skellum. Teamed with Kamahl, he would return from 
shikar as the ancient ritual intended, as a hunter. A 
predator. A dangerous adversary and a valuable friend.
    The First waved and a skull attendant came forward. 
"The mentor must set his pupil aside," he said, and the 
attendant copied the words onto a tablet she wore on a cord 
around her neck.
    A knock sounded from outside the chamber. The First 
called, "Enter," and a hand attendant came forward bearing 
a silver mirror on a silk pillow. The First waved the 
attendant forward, and the shuffling man ascended the 
throne. He held the mirror up to the First's face, abjectly 
turning his aside.
    In the mirror, a cephalid's face filled the screen. 
"Hail to you, Cabal Patriarch."
    "You honor me, Empress Llawan. How fares the empire?" 
"It fares well. Have you considered our proposal?" "I have, 
Empress. I have not yet reached a decision." "But you will 
continue to extend your ... hospitality to Ambassador 
Laquatus?" "As we agreed."
    Llawan turned one eye to the mirror. "And the Cabal 
will remain neutral as we transition back into public 
service?"
    "The Cabal has no interest in the internal affairs of 
the Mer empire," the First assured her. "Our relationship 
with all concerned parties is merely professional."
    "Very well," Llawan pulled back, framing her face in 
the mirror. "But remember that relationships with the deep 
are not like those on dry land. You don't build a 
relationship like a house, you ride it like a wave. The 
wave is always changing, always moving. You must be very 
careful when you get off, or on."
    The First smiled graciously. "Words I have already 
taken to heart. We have far more in common than you 
suspect, Empress." "We hope so, Patriarch. We hope so." 
Llawan's image faded. The First dismissed the mirror-
bearing attendant, steepled his fingers under his chin, and 
sat in silent meditation for a time. When he next moved, it 
was to speak to his attendants. "Send for the Master of the 
Games."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    "Veza," Laquatus said. "This is truly a most unexpected 
surprise. I came to collect the empress's survey data. I 
didn't expect to collect her pet mermaid as well."
    The captain and crew had resisted when Laquatus removed 
the recording crystal, but they were easily subdued by the 
ambassador's human mercenaries. Each, had been armed and 
enchanted for underwater work, and Veza recognized several 
pirate clan tattoos among them. There was also some kind of 
living statue that had taken Turg's place at Laquatus's 
side.
    "Take Director Veza to my ship," Laquatus said. "Bind 
the others and put them in the brig. I want this leviathan 
gutted and towed back to where it came in."
    "Can we feed 'er to the rays, sir?"
    "By all means. But save the head carapace. Hang it at 
the mouth of the chasm as a warning." Laquatus followed 
Veza as she was led out. She saw him whisper something to 
the purple statue, and the statue nodded, then stayed 
behind.
    They led her to Laquatus's ray, where they untied her 
wrists and feet and locked her in a chamber. Before too 
long, Laquatus himself came to join her.
    "I must apologize," he said, "but we are inches away 
from a fullblown civil war. I had actually hoped the 
information from your survey would calm some of the 
passions that are running so high. Alas, it seems that this 
chasm is another item Llawan and I must quarrel over." He 
stared hard at Veza. "Have you become more fluid, my dear, 
as I suggested?"
    "If you mean, am I ready to join your side, the answer 
is no."
    "I don't think you've thought this through, so I'll 
give you another chance to answer." Laquatus leaned forward 
to clear a floating strand of hair out of Veza's face, but 
she swatted his hand aside. He smiled.
    "Why are you so loyal to the empress? She sent you into 
harm's way through sheer ignorance. She is not worthy of 
your loyalty. And besides, she holds no such love for you 
or any of our kind." " 'Our kind,' Ambassador? What is our 
kind?" "The adaptable," he said instantly. "Those of us who 
can respond quickly to changing circumstances. Those of us 
who continually define ourselves." He crouched next to her 
where she sat. "Let me help you, Veza. Trust in me half as 
much as you trust in Llawan, and I will never abandon you, 
as she has." "Llawan has not abandoned me."
    "Hasn't she?" Laquatus brought a blue mirror out of his 
robe. He held it before his face and said, "Empress 
Llawan?"
    The empress's face soon appeared. "What do you want, 
pretender?" "I have captured your spy vessel in Otaria 
Chasm. Your ship and its crew will be executed at dawn."
    "If you damage a single scale on our leviathan," Llawan 
raged, "we will crucify you on the ocean's floor."
    Laquatus glanced at Veza, making sure she was listening 
to the exchange. "What's that, Your Majesty? No concern for 
the crew?" "If you have taken our crew, then they are 
already dead." "Not at all, Empress." He turned the mirror 
to face Veza. "Your valued advisor from Breaker Bay is 
chatting with me now." Laquatus gave the two women the 
briefest glimpse of each other before turning the mirror 
back to his own face. "Will you barter for her life, at 
least?"
    "We grow weary of your voice, Laquatus. If you have a 
point, make it."
    "A trade. The leviathan and the mermaid in exchange for 
the chasm."
    Llawan clicked angrily. "No. We are sorry to lose our 
leviathan and our friend Veza. But we will come for their 
bodies soon, Laqua-tus, and when we do, you will surely 
fall. This audience is over." Laquatus smiled at the 
darkened glass and casually placed the mirror back in his 
robes. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned to 
Veza.
    "I'd say you are officially abandoned, Director. So 
now, the question is to you." A knock sounded, and 
Laquatus's featureless man came in with a heavy sack over 
his shoulder.
    "Will you take my hand and help the Mer empire reach 
the very pinnacle of its power and prestige?" He took the 
sack from his servant. "Thank you, Burke.
    "Or will you remain loyal to Llawan, who has endangered 
and abandoned you?" Laquatus opened the sack and pulled it 
away from its contents. The heads of the leviathan's bridge 
crew floated freely in the chamber between Laquatus and 
Veza. "I apologize for the rudeness of the message, but the 
question is pressing. Who shall you serve?"
    Veza looked at the ghastly display, then Burke's 
expressionless face, then Laquatus's confident smile.
    "If the chasm has a hidden value," she said, "I can 
help you secure it."
    "Excellent." Laquatus extended his hands, and Veza rose 
to take them. "We should begin at once."
 
                       CHAPTER 17
 
    Skellum made the short walk from the manor to the 
academy. He was looking forward to his dinner, but he was 
looking forward to the shikar with Chainer even more. He 
had trained dozens of young Ca-.balists, one at a time, and 
he was usually somewhat melancholy at this stage of the 
program. The vast majority of his students never went on 
shikar. Instead, they were hurled into the pits as soon as 
they could reliably create monsters, an arrangement that 
served the Cabal's needs for warm bodies in the pits far 
better than it served Skellum's perfectionist nature. 
Chainer, however, would be his crowning achievement as a 
Master Dementist.
    The First had meddled, as he always did, but Skellum 
knew that in this case the First's interest was well 
justified. He had something special in mind for Chainer 
from the very beginning, and though Skellum could only 
guess at what that might be, he was proud to have been a 
part of it. He was proud of his student, proud of his 
program, and proud of himself.
    The Master of the Games was waiting outside of 
Skellum's office with a fixer Skellum recognized as Louche 
and a pair of hulking stalkers.
    "The Cabal is here," Skellum called.
    "Do you recognize this seal?" The Master of the Games 
stiffly handed Skellum a scroll with an ornate wax seal on 
it.
    "It's from the First."
    "Read it, please."
    Skellum took the scroll and scanned it. It was a short 
statement, and it didn't take him long. He read it twice, 
then looked up at the Master of the Games.
    "Is this a joke?"
    "No joke, Master Skellum. The First has requested you 
to take your student's place in the pits this evening."
    "But I'm not a-"
    "He knew you would understand."
    Skellum's ire began to rise, and the Master of the 
Games took a step back.
    "I will see the First now," Skellum said. He looked up 
at the stalkers, one a saber-toothed ogre and the other a 
half-zombified merman with three crushing octopus tentacles 
on each shoulder instead of arms. The ogre, still alive and 
alert, took a step back from the smaller man's glare.
    "Very well," said the Master of the Games, and she 
hurled a handful of grayish powder in Skellum's face. His 
hat blocked most of it, but enough got through to cover his 
eyes and clog his nose and throat. Skellum swooned but did 
not fall. With his cape wrapped around his arm, he took two 
staggering steps forward, as elegantly as he could, and 
pressed his back against the wall. Then he slid to the 
floor, unconscious.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    "Forgive me, Master Skellum." The First stood alone in 
his private chambers, surrounded by black candles. Skellum 
straightened his cape and got to his feet.
    "I'm afraid I really must insist," the First was 
saying. "You must trust in me. This will be for the best."
    "But I've done nothing wrong. I've been a valued and 
loyal servant all my life."
    The First came forward. "And you shall remain so, even 
after death."
    Skellum looked around the darkened room. It was far too 
lonely and silent without all the guards and attendants.
    "Pater," he said. "I don't understand."
    "You don't have to, my son. I do." The First offered 
his hand to Skellum, and the dementist recoiled.
    "Go ahead," the First urged. "None of this is real, and 
no harm can come to you."
    "Pater, I-"
    "Take my hand, Cybariss."
    Skellum woodenly stepped forward and took hold of the 
First's cold, gray fingers. There was no pain. There was no 
stench. None of the things that were rumored to occur when 
someone touched the First happened.
    "You see?" The First smiled. He pulled Skellum in close 
in a full, two-armed hug.
    "Go now," the First whispered. "Obey me. Honor the 
Cabal, and serve Kuberr."
    "I will, Pater."
    "Outstanding."
    The First released his hand, and Skellum fell back, 
into a soft, silent void of darkness and mist.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    "Master Skellum."
    Skellum opened his eyes. Louche, the Master of the 
Games, and the stalkers were looming over him.
    "Are you ready to go now?"
    "I am," Skellum said. He gave his hat a test spin and 
gracefully rose to his feet. He brushed a few imaginary 
bits of fluff from his cape as they led him out the front 
door and back toward the pits, keeping his head high, his 
eyes clear, and his pace measured. He was determined that 
no one who saw him would have the slightest idea that he 
was a prisoner.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    "Ladies and gentlemen, making his triumphant return to 
the Cabal City pits . . . Master Skellum!"
    Skellum stood alone in the pits. At least they hadn't 
called him "caster."
    "Joining Skellum, and fresh from her recent tour of the 
deepest parts of the Mer empire . . . Caster Fulla!"
    The crowd cheered and hooted as Fulla stalked angrily 
out onto the pit floor. Skellum knew her, of course. She 
was one of the best casters ever to take the floor, but 
they moved in different circles, and he had rarely 
interacted with her. By reputation, she was either manic 
from the joy of battle, or she was playful like a 
mischievous child. Today, she just seemed annoyed.
    "Skellum?" she said.
    "Fulla."
    "What in nine hells is going on? I wasn't scheduled to 
go back in the pits until tomorrow."
    "It seems we have been chosen to throw this match with 
the Order."
    Fulla scowled. "The First is wise. But I thought you 
didn't do this sort of thing."
    "I don't." Skellum spun his hat as the announcer 
introduced the competition.
    ". . . and their opponents, here to expose the Cabal's 
weakness and corruption . . . and in the process, earn a 
slot in the upcoming Mirari games, I present Major Teroh, 
Sergeant Baankis, and Justicar Gobal of the Order!"
    The crowd booed, and Skellum blinked behind his 
spinning hat. "Did he say 'Baankis?' "
    "Who cares? I just want to get this over with." She 
drew her sword, ran her thumb along its edge, and said, 
"Say, what's a jus-ticar?"
    "Tonight, the Order team will be joined by Yewma the 
druid and her mandrill wolf-monkeys. Place your bets, 
ladies and gentlemen, place your bets."
    Skellum noticed that Fulla's wide eyes were such a 
light shade of blue that they almost seemed white. Then he 
realized she had asked him a question, and he glanced 
across the pit at the Order team. He recognized Teroh and 
Baankis, despite the thin beard Baankis had grown and the 
new insignia on his robes. The justicar stood ramrod 
straight on Baankis's left. He was a tall, muscular, 
partially armored figure whose face was hidden behind a 
gleaming helm and visor. Yewma was tall and wiry and 
carried a gnarled staff made of what appeared to be an 
entire sapling with the roots trimmed off. She wore the 
roots wound tightly around each forearm like a pair of 
wooden gauntlets. Yewma stood next to a large wooden box 
that had small, barred windows on each side. The box shook 
and rattled as the creatures inside jostled one another and 
screamed.
    "I don't know what a justicar is," Skellum said, "but 
it looks kind of like a knight."
    The prep horn sounded after the announcer's final word, 
and Skellum spun his hat again. He achieved a dementia 
trance by juxtaposing images of the world around him with 
the darkness provided by his hat. Then he projected his own 
internal landscape onto the darkness and spun the hat 
faster until the world within merged with the world 
without. When that happened, his head became an actual 
doorway through which he could release his monsters.
    In this case, however, he had too much to keep track of 
in the real world. There were too many opponents for 
Skellum to find the footing he needed to go into dementia 
space, and having Fulla as a partner further distracted 
him. Also, he couldn't clear his head of thoughts of 
Chainer. I'm going to die, he realized, even though I'm 
rich and handsome. Even though there will be no one to 
protect my prize student.
    The starting horn sounded. Fulla let out a yell, Yewma 
opened her box, and the toy soldiers drew and advanced.
    The druid had unleashed eight large, baboonlike 
primates, each over seventy pounds and armed with a long 
canine snout capable of crushing stone. Colorful fur 
wreathed their heads and shoulders, and they screamed like 
lunatics turned loose in a graveyard. They were the wild 
predators of the deep woods, chasing down their quarry and 
tearing it to pieces as an organized pack. Skellum wasn't 
sure what Yewma had bewitched them with, but the druid was 
careful to leap out of their line of sight once she had 
opened the box.
    Skellum spun his hat faster and faster. It was the only 
weapon he had. Fulla, meanwhile, had created a zombified 
rhino and a small, hissing hydra. The rhino charged 
directly at the Order trio, but she had to drive the hydra 
forward with her sword before it joined the battle.
    When the rhino was twenty feet away and closing, the 
justicar raised his hands over his head and clapped them 
together. A bolt of the purest white lightning leaped from 
the point of contact to the rhino's body and the zombified 
hulk literally exploded, raining fetid flesh all over the 
arena. Fulla swore and charged forward herself, driving the 
hydra as she went.
    The largest mandrill came straight at Skellum, while 
the others formed an attack column behind him. Two of the 
group broke off and circled wide around him on either side, 
and the main body slowed to allow them to get into position 
for an all-out assault. They never stopped whooping and 
screaming.
    Skellum's view of the arena started to shudder and 
melt, the first signs of the trance. He opened his eyes 
wider, never more desperate to find that other world within 
and disappear inside.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer waited outside the First's chamber until a hand 
attendant came to admit him. He had never been alone with 
the First before, and he was eager to make a good 
impression without Skellum to run interference for him, or 
Kamahl to cover for. Of course, the First was always 
surrounded by his attendants, but once you got used to them 
it was easy to overlook them as separate entities.
    Inside the chamber, Chainer was disappointed to see 
someone other than the First and his attendants waiting. He 
was a tall man, slightly blue, with small silver horns. 
Chainer recognized him but waited for the formal 
introduction.
    "Ambassador Laquatus of Mer," the First said, "meet 
Chainer, one of our best dementists-in-training."
    Laquatus looked Chainer over and disdainfully held out 
his hand, knuckles up, for Chainer to take. "Charmed." he 
said.
    Chainer slapped his metal hand on top of the merman's 
and his other hand below. He forced the ambassador's hand 
perpendicular to the floor and shook it vigorously, 
disarranging the ambassador's carefully wrapped robe.
    "The pleasure's all mine, Ambassador." Laquatus quickly 
withdrew his hand as soon as Chainer released it. Chainer 
smiled pleasantly at the merman.
    "We were just discussing the future of Otaria," the 
First said. "Grand stuff, but it has to start somewhere. 
Ambassador Laquatus and I are starting it here and now."
    "The Mer Empire is the sea, " Laquatus said, "and Cabal 
City is a port city. We have always had much in common."
    The First scowled slightly but went on. "But not enough 
in common, unfortunately. I was just describing how the 
crusat raids have begun again and how disruptive they are 
to business."
    "The Mer Empire is always concerned about maintaining 
the flow of commerce between the land and the depths."
    The First waited patiently for Laquatus to finish. "But 
not concerned enough," he added.
    "You have to understand, Patriarch," Laquatus said, 
"the Empire has a long, solid relationship with the Order. 
They aren't like you. They don't have a single ruler who 
speaks for them all with a single voice. While one division 
prepares for crusat, the others are merely trying to 
rebuild. Morally and economically, I cannot turn my back on 
the entire Order."
    Chainer choked back a snort when the Ambassador said, 
"morally," and he saw the shadow of a smile on the First's 
lips, too.
    "I would never ask you to do something so drastic as to 
turn your back on the entire Order," the First said. 
"Indeed, even we don't want the Order to be wiped out 
entirely. Do we, Chainer?"
    "No, Pater," Chainer's tone belied his words. "Not at 
all."
    "We simply want there to be peace between our two 
groups. Civilized people don't kill each other because of 
philosophical differences. I was hoping I could convince 
the ambassador to join us in censuring the Order. Lodging 
official protests over the crusat. Demanding restitution 
from Bretath, if he ever returns to this region. Perhaps, 
Ambassador" the First said, "it isn't your relationship 
with the Order that needs to be solidified. It's your 
relationship with the Cabal."
    Laquatus smiled greedily. "You have something in mind, 
Patriarch?" "I do. You recently lost your champion, did you 
not? And while it served you well, and was formidable in 
combat, it was never as ... refined as a man of your 
stature requires."
    "Turg was an excellent jack," Laquatus said. "He is 
sorely missed." "What if my young dementist here were to 
provide you with a new champion? As I say, he's one of our 
best."
    "A most generous offer," Laquatus said, "but if we 
really want to strengthen the bond between us, might I 
suggest something even more valuable?" With the exception 
of the First's attendants, everyone in the room knew what 
he meant. Chainer's fists clenched.
    "The Mirari has already been slated as the grand prize 
in the Cabal City Games, to be held three months from now. 
My apologies, Ambassador. It is no longer mine to offer. 
But please," he gestured at Chainer to step up, "accept a 
new familiar from us. As a gesture of good faith."
    Chainer came forward. "I can make you forget the frog," 
he said. "Tell me what you need, and the Cabal will produce 
it."
    Laquatus looked him over once more. "It must be 
powerful. Unbeatable."
    "Then it will be."
    "It must be obedient. Minimal intelligence, highly 
developed instincts."
    "Then it will be."
    "It must be mobile. Able to accompany me wherever I go, 
above ground or below the sea." "It will be."
    Laquatus looked to the First. "When?"
    The First smiled. "Regrettably, Chainer is unavailable 
for the next week or so. But as soon as he returns, he will 
be at your disposal."
    Chainer watched the merman building a timeline in his 
head. "Can't he start now?"
    "Alas, no. He is still recovering from injuries 
suffered in the pits."
    Laquatus finished calculating. "A week, then. With your 
permission, Patriarch, I will stay on in the guest house 
and continue to enjoy the sights and sounds of Cabal City 
while I wait for the boy to heal."
    "Outstanding. Now, if you will excuse us, Chainer has a 
report to make."
    Laquatus was slow to leave, but the hand attendants 
gathered around him and firmly led him to the door. Chainer 
knew he could speak freely, for the First's attendants 
always escorted his guests all the way out into the street. 
Laquatus was just the kind to try to linger behind in order 
to eavesdrop. He shuddered, overcome by a fit of revulsion 
for the fawning politician.
    Once Laquatus was gone, the First spoke to Chainer 
casually. Not as an intimate, but as a peer. "I'm sorry to 
call you away from the pits, Caster Chainer, but the 
ambassador needed seeing to. It was not difficult to 
arrange for your replacement."
    "I am your obedient child, Pater." Chainer suddenly 
smelled Dragon's Blood. The First watched him with mild 
interest as the boy began sniffing the air.
    "Is something wrong?"
    "No, Pater. It's just that . . ." He sniffed again, 
absently looking behind him, above him, all around. 
"Something's . . . pulling me. Do you smell incense?"
    "This room is scented daily."
    "No, I mean . . . this room reeks of Dragon's Blood. 
Can't you smell it?"
    "Perhaps you should take a moment to gather yourself, 
Caster Chainer. You're not making sense."
    Chainer cried out and slammed the palms of his hands 
into his forehead. He smelled the smoke, he felt the black 
sand beneath his feet, he saw the mustard sky. . . .
    "Chainer," Skellum's voice said. It was high pitched, 
buzzing with distortion. It cut through Chainer's head like 
a blade.
    "Skellum?" Chainer said, as the First's hand attendant 
slapped him for the third time. Chainer broke the man's 
collarbone with his metal fist, shoved him back, and bolted 
for the door. Two brawny killers leaped out of the shadows 
and took him down before he went four steps.
    "Don't harm him." The First spoke loudly but calmly. 
"Mazeura," he whispered, hissing the secret name and 
freezing Chainer in mid-struggle. "What is the meaning of 
this?"
    "Skellum," Chainer said. He was immobile beneath the 
weight of the First's guards and the power of his secret 
name on the First's lips.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    The lead wolf-monkey stopped five feet from Skellum and 
bared its teeth. Behind it, the rest of the troop chattered 
and pounded the ground. Skellum himself stood with his hand 
raised, as if in greeting. With a start, the dementist 
master came back to the pit and saw the wolf-monkeys 
closing in. The crowd booed his complete lack of motion.
    Skellum stopped his hat with a gap in front. The leader 
was tensing for its charge. Skellum smiled amiably.
    "Animal," he said. The leader snarled, then dove for 
Skellum's face. Before its slashing fangs could latch on, 
however, the vortex in Skellum's head boomed and a smoking 
comet erupted out of his hat and crashed into the wolf-
monkey. It was a near-formless horror, all shadows and 
teeth, but it devoured the lead mandrill whole in a single 
bite. It hissed, and snapped at another wolf-monkey. Then 
it began to fade.
    "How are you doing, Skellum?" Fulla was bedeviling 
Major Teroh with a pair of wolf-headed spiders and was 
beating Sgt. Baankis back with her gladius. She crowed 
happily and unleashed a zombie centaur at the justicar. 
Yewma cried out in horror when she saw Fulla's latest 
contribution, and the wolf-monkeys reoriented on the 
caster.
    "Better now," Skellum said, the sing-song quality of 
his voice resonating in his own head. "I've got a lot on my 
mind, however." He spat out four small comets in rapid 
succession, each transforming in midair. While the pack of 
wolf-monkeys howled and gibbered toward Fulla, Skellum sent 
a quartet of man-sized millipedes scurrying after them.
    Skellum saw that he had a moment's respite and let his 
mind drift away from the pits.
    "Chainer?" he called. "Forgive me, my boy, but I need 
you to see this."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer swooned and found himself standing in the pits. 
There was a match going on, a busy one with monkeys and toy 
soldiers and dementia castings and glowing knights. 
Chainer's hat spun before his eyes. He blinked. His hat?
    "Skellum!" Fulla called. She was tossing out monsters 
left and right, but she was slowly being overwhelmed.
    Chainer's vision dropped, and there were suddenly twice 
as many monsters fighting with Fulla. She howled again, 
knocking one Order soldier to his knees and ducking under 
another's sword.
    "I know those two," Chainer said aloud, but he didn't 
hear his own voice.
    "I'm sorry, Chainer," Skellum's voice said in his head, 
"but I couldn't go without saying goodbye."
    "What?" Chainer's voice still carried no sound. "What 
do you mean? That's Bunkus and Teroh, isn't it?"
    "Remember me." A vision of Skellum stood, his eyes sad 
and pleading. "Remember how I died." The vision put on its 
hat and raised a hand. "We deserve better than this, my 
boy."
    There was a horrific screech, and Chainer turned just 
in time to see a glowing knight tear a hydra's headless 
body in half. His skin had begun to crackle beneath his 
shining armor, giving the impression that he was composed 
only of armored plates and energy. Arcs of electricity 
crawled over him from head to toe.
    "Sergeant Baankis?" the glowing knight's voice clanged 
like a gong. "It is time."
    The arcs of electricity on the justicar's body began to 
grow bigger and brighter. They increased in number and 
frequency, with more and more rolling over him until his 
body was scarcely visible at the center of an electrical 
storm. The air in the pit was being stirred up as if by a 
great wind, and Chainer felt a deep, vibrating hum in his 
ear. It seemed the entire building was shaking.
    Disoriented, Chainer bowled Baankis over and took a few 
faltering steps toward the justicar. Whatever he was doing, 
it was affecting Chainer's balance. He couldn't see Fulla, 
but if she was still on the pit floor, she was caught in 
the same maelstrom he was. Chainer was willing to lose the 
match, but the longer this went on, the more he felt like 
the justicar wouldn't stop just because the flag was down. 
He couldn't concentrate enough to cast the death bloom or 
unleash a monster, so he snapped his metal arm out straight 
and tried to lash a chain across the justicar's face.
    Before the chain could even form, electricity leaped in 
one huge arc from the justicar to Chainer's body. For 
Chainer, the world went white. His body was blasted halfway 
across the arena. . . .
    . . . Chainer opened his eyes in the First's private 
chambers, carried by cutthroats and attended by zombies.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Skellum rose painfully to one knee. His hat was torn 
and burned and hung in tatters across his face. One eye was 
swollen shut, and he could feel the blood running freely 
from his nose. Fulla was down, halfway across the floor, 
and the smoking carcasses of their combined summonings were 
quickly fading away. The surviving wolf-monkeys turned and 
oriented on Skellum once more.
    "We give," Skellum called, as loudly as his burned 
lungs permitted. The wo If-monkeys kept coming. He saw 
Teroh laugh and cross his arms. The major gestured and 
spoke to Yewma, and the druid shrugged. With a finger on 
either side of her mouth, she blew two short, sharp 
whistles.
    The monkeys spread out and surrounded Skellum.
    "Hello," he said. "My name is Skellum, and I wear-"
    The wolf-monkey flanking Skellum's left lunged forward 
and hit him high on the shoulder before he could continue. 
Skellum felt a wet, searing slap and found himself on both 
knees, hat gone, face-to-naked-face with the lead primate. 
They stared at each other for a moment, the wolf-monkey 
slavering and Skellum coughing blood.
    "Finish this," Teroh said. Yewma whistled again, and 
the wolf-monkeys piled on to Skellum with a chorus of 
hideous screams. The victory horn sounded over a chorus of 
boos, and Yewma the druid frantically blew the signal that 
called off her troop. It took quite a long time to get all 
the blood-maddened mandrills back into their cage.
 
                       PART THREE:
                        DEMENTIST
 
                       CHAPTER 18
 
    Chainer and the First both agreed that the shikar 
should continue as scheduled. Kamahl seemed concerned when 
Chainer asked him to replace Skellum during the ritual 
hunt, but he agreed immediately and without comment. 
Chainer realized how much he relished the barbarian's 
company. He had been prepared to explain the importance of 
the ritual itself, how important it had been to Skellum, 
and how fitting it would be for Chainer's partner in the 
pits to become his partner on shikar. If Kamahl had been a 
Cabalist or a merchant, he would have bantered and 
negotiated and otherwise extended the discussion until he 
figured out a way to profit from it. The barbarian, 
however, simply said, "Yes."
    The journey was scheduled to begin at dawn, and Chainer 
spent the final few hours dining with Fulla. Chainer was 
still too stunned to speak during his meal, and Fulla 
seemed ashamed of what had happened. She was not good at 
comforting others, but even in his state of shock, Chainer 
appreciated her attempts at kindness. He even asked her to 
accompany him on shikar, but she declined.
    "Oh, Skellum," Fulla had said wistfully. She walked 
around Chainer as she spoke, taking long, straight strides. 
"Always trying to send people somewhere. 'It's a big 
special journey, one step at a time, watch where you put 
your feet.' Always trying to keep it separate." She counted 
her steps out loud as she walked, then went around again, 
trying to reduce the count.
    "It's an important ritual," Chainer said defensively. 
"First you learn to perceive, then-"
    "Where do you keep your monsters, caster?" Fulla spun 
on one toe in front of Chainer, drew her sword, and 
presented it to him, hilt-first. "Where do you go to get 
them?"
    "I keep them in here," Chainer tapped his temple. "In 
my head. In the place that Skellum showed me."
    "That's good." Fulla pulled her sword back and tapped 
the tip thoughtfully on her chin. "Look me in the eye," she 
said.
    Chainer leaned down and put his face inches from 
Fulla's. He opened his eyes as wide as hers and stared into 
her blue-white irises. "Don't look away," Fulla was careful 
to keep her head still. "But also look over my shoulder. 
Take your time."
    Chainer sighed. Fulla's eyes were wide and bright. He 
could make out her half smile below them, and below that, 
the tapping point of her sword. If he concentrated, he 
could also make out the rows of beads in her hair, so 
similar to his own, and the space just beside her ear.
    "Mine are always with me," Fulla said, and suddenly 
Chainer could see them. Hundreds of them, perhaps 
thousands, lined up behind Fulla and stretching as far back 
as his mind could see. Monstrous, misshapen, the shades of 
Fulla's monsters were always half a step behind her.
    Fulla broke eye contact then, and the phantasms 
disappeared. "I didn't learn from Skellum," she told 
Chainer. "And I can't help you like he did. But I can still 
do what he does." They finished their meal in silence.
    Chainer also spent his time ignoring Laquatus. The 
ambassador had sent numerous requests to Chainer, asking if 
he could come by and express his sympathies personally. 
Chainer left a pile of such requests lying unanswered by 
the door.
    The books Skellum had which described the shikar ritual 
were more interesting to Chainer but harder to concentrate 
on. He knew that shikar would be extremely difficult 
without Skellum's guidance. At least the actual mechanics 
of it seemed simple enough, and the underlying rationale 
made sense. He and his partner were going to walk deep into 
the woods and interact with as many wild creatures as they 
could find. They would survive on what they could scrounge 
or hunt down.
    The point of the exercise, as Chainer understood it, 
was to fill his head with fresh ideas. The more brutes he 
saw, the more beasts he mastered, the more he would have to 
draw on when he created his own creatures. Some dementists 
on shikar simply tried to see as many creatures as 
possible. Some captured the things they hunted or killed 
and ate them. Others were satisfied to touch their quarry 
or even simply to make eye contact. Each shikar was as 
unique as the dementist who took it, but the end objective 
was always the same, to align the world without to the 
world within and increase the dementist's ability to bridge 
the gap between them.
    Chainer sat with an open scroll in his lap, Dragon's 
Blood smoking in his censer, waiting for the sky to 
brighten. He hadn't slept since Skellum died, and he didn't 
want to. All he wanted to do was leave the city behind. If 
Kuberr smiled on him, he might even have the good fortune 
to run across a pack of wolf-monkeys while he trekked 
through Krosan. And then, he thought, I will show Kamahl a 
few things about explosions and fire.
    He continued to stare at the sunless sky. Absently, he 
created a small, buzzing mosquito with a three-pronged 
proboscis. With his other hand, he made a long-tongued 
iguana that dropped to the floor and immediately began 
circling under the mosquito. Chainer made a black owl with 
four orange eyes and a face on both sides of its skull, 
then a large, hissing cobra. The owl settled on the window 
sill and scanned the room as well as the courtyard outside. 
The snake coiled around Chainer's chair leg and spread its 
hood.
    "Three," Chainer said aloud as the mosquito buzzed over 
his left arm, looking for a place to feed. "Two. One. Go."
    The iguana's tongue snatched the mosquito out of the 
air. The owl suddenly swooped down and sank its claws into 
the iguana, and the cobra struck the owl before it could 
escape with its kill.
    Chainer split his attention between the sky, which was 
at last starting to lighten, and the cobra, who was waiting 
patiently for the owl to stop convulsing. As the snake 
dislocated its jaw to enjoy a meal of bug, lizard, and 
bird, Chainer wiggled his metal fingers and the entire 
tableau disappeared.
    Soon he would be in Krosan, and they all would discover 
just who sat at the top of the forest's food chain. And 
then he would return to Cabal City and teach both the Order 
and the Mer Empire a similar lesson.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    It took Kamahl and Chainer two uneventful days of 
steady hiking to walk from the city gates to the edge of 
the Krosan Forest. They made their first camp about five 
hundred yards inside the forest's border, with another 
day's hike before the ritual hunt would truly begin.
    "Hey, Chainer!" Kamahl called. "There's vermin over 
here. Are you hunting vermin?"
    "What kind of vermin? Where?"
    "Up there," Kamahl pointed into the trees. "It's about 
a foot long, with a big, fuzzy tail."
    Chainer thought it over. "You mean a squirrel?"
    "Yeah."
    The black chain shot up into the tree above Kamahl. The 
dead rodent fell to the ground with a tiny thud, its back 
broken. Chainer nimbly pounced on his kill and scooped it 
up.
    "In answer to your question," Chainer said, "no, I'm 
not hunting vermin. But squirrel aren't vermin. This one, 
in fact, is going to be dinner."
    Kamahl scowled. "If it gnaws things and twitches its 
nose, it's vermin. And if you don't cook that right now 
it's going to stink."
    Chainer put the dead squirrel in his satchel. He folded 
his arms and stared at Kamahl.
    "What?" the barbarian said.
    "You want fresh-killed meat," Chainer said, "you can 
kill it yourself."
    Kamahl opened his mouth to swear at Chainer when the 
ground beneath them shook. From a hundred yards or so to 
their right came the sound of splintering wood.
    "That sounds bigger than vermin." Chainer slapped 
Kamahl's shoulder. "Look alive, this is what we came here 
for." He started running through the woods toward the 
sound. Kamahl followed him,
    "What do I do?" he called. Chainer was lighter and 
quicker through the thick brush, and Kamahl was falling 
behind.
    "Just back me up," Chainer called. He slowed his pace. 
"I'll try to ... do my thing. You make sure nothing sneaks 
up behind me. If I freeze up, snap me out of it. If the 
thing takes a bite out of me, kill it."
    Kamahl nodded. They came to the edge of a clearing, and 
he drew his sword. Chainer was already down on one knee, 
peering out into the sheltered glade. A huge, elephantine 
creature rumbled along, seemingly lost and out of its 
element. When it came upon a large enough tree, it reared 
up and came down hard with all of its weight, snapping the 
tree off at the base and crushing the loose trunk into a 
mass of dirt and splinters.
    "It's a gargadon," Chainer whispered. "A young male."
    Kamahl shook his head. "It can't be a gargadon this 
close to the edge of the woods. They need more open space 
and a different kind of tree to eat."
    "All I know is," Chainer said, "I'm getting a 
gargadon." He unhooked the censer from his vest.
    "Tell me you aren't going to use that thing out here."
    "Shhhh. It's important." As he spoke, he loaded and lit 
the censer. "Just back me up, okay? You ready?"
    "Always."
    Chainer stepped out into the glade. The gargadon was 
thirty yards upwind with its back to Chainer, so he was 
able to get close before it smelled his smoke.
    When it turned and trumpeted, Chainer finally realized 
how truly big it was. A single leg was taller and wider 
than Chainer's whole body. It pawed the ground with one of 
those legs and trumpeted again, and the ground shook. It 
wasn't afraid of Chainer in the least, but it was going to 
warn him to keep clear.
    This was the moment that Chainer had been dreading. He 
knew that he was supposed to master the creature, but it 
was too big for him to fight, and he knew he wasn't 
supposed to create any help. Kamahl might be able to blow a 
hole in its head with one of his axes, but that did nothing 
for Chainer's shikar.
    He had brought his own dementia monsters to heel with a 
tight collar and a magical slap on the nose. How was he 
supposed to collar and slap something that could crush him 
and not notice? Chainer needed an answer soon because the 
gargadon was clearly not happy to share its space.
    "What's wrong?" Kamahl called. "Why aren't you zapping 
it?
    Chainer continued to spin his censer and stare directly 
into the gargadon's huge eyes. "Zapping it with what?"
    "I don't know. It's your ritual."
    "I'm getting an idea now. Just shut up and support me." 
The gargadon pawed the ground again and stomped gently with 
both front feet. Chainer was shaken almost to his knees, 
but he thought he might have the answer.
    His dementia monsters were only alive in his mind, and 
Chainer's mind was his place of power. As long as he 
controlled his fear, he was the ultimate lord and master of 
his own dementia space. The gargadon had its own life 
outside of Chainer's, however, and it didn't know that he 
was its master. It needed to be shown that fact, it needed 
to be taught. The best way for Chainer to teach that lesson 
and gain the kind of control he needed was to take the 
gargadon out of this world and transplant it into his own.
    The gargadon was preparing to charge. "Kamahl," Chainer 
said. "I need a big explosion, behind the gargadon. Drive 
it toward me."
    "Say when."
    Chainer felt a shudder start in the base of his spine 
and work all the way up to his skull. When his vision 
cleared, he was standing on a field of black sand under a 
hole in the sky, facing the exact same gargadon he was 
facing in Krosan. It had become so easy to take that first 
step, and Chainer silently cursed the fact that Skel-lum 
was not beside him to see this.
    "When," he said. Kamahl let the axe fly, and the 
lowest-hanging branches of the tree behind the gargadon 
erupted into flames and thunder. The massive creature was 
far too heavy to spring, but it reared and charged. It bore 
down on Chainer, who continued to spin his censer in its 
widest arc yet, his eyes focused beyond the canopy 
overhead.
    The gargadon charged into range of Chainer's censer. On 
its next revolution the smoking cage made contact with the 
gargadon's massive head, and there was a flash of black 
light and an implosion so strong it sucked the leaves off 
the trees nearby.
    "Fiers's teeth!" Kamahl ran to Chainer's side. "What 
just happened? That thing was going to crush you like a 
bug, but it ... ran into you."
    Chainer kept his back to Kamahl and stared at his own 
smoking hands. The censer lay in the tall grass, the stalks 
around it smoldering. "If it ran into me, I'd be a smear." 
Chainer's voice sounded odd to his own ears, deeper and 
more hollow, as if he were speaking through a tube.
    "No," Kamahl said. "I mean it ran into you, like a 
sword goes into a scabbard. It was bigger than you, but 
then you were bigger than it, and . . . Fiers's teeth."
    Chainer had turned in the middle of Kamahl's sentence, 
and his friend immediately stopped talking. "What's wrong?" 
Chainer asked in his hollow voice.
    "Your eyes," Kamahl said. "They're black." "Everybody's 
eyes are black, you-"
    Kamahl held his sword horizontally in front of 
Chainer's face, so Chainer could see his own eyes reflected 
in the flat of the blade. "Your eyes are black, Chainer. 
Empty holes." Chainer stared at his reflection while he ran 
a finger around his eyebrows and cheekbones. His eyes were 
deep, solid black, like the void of a bottomless pit. 
Chainer laughed, and the sound was more pleasant arid 
musical than he had ever noticed before.
    "I just swallowed a gargadon whole." Chainer tore his 
gaze away from the blade and looked at Kamahl. "It could 
take a while to digest."
    Kamahl sheathed his sword. "I don't like it. Is this 
going to happen every time you catch something?"
    Chainer held his metal hand in front of his face, 
concentrated, and slowly curled the hand into a fist. When 
he looked up again, his eyes were normal.
    "Not if I learn to control it." Chainer lowered his 
hand and looked around the empty glen, breathing deeply and 
evenly. Kamahl nudged him.
    "You okay?"
    "I feel great." Chainer took one last deep breath, then 
nudged Kamahl back. "Come on. If there's gargadons here, 
imagine what we're going to find in the really deep woods."
    "I can't," Kamahl said. "That's sort of what worries 
me."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    The second day of hunting started with scorpions in 
their bedrolls. Chainer took his into dementia space, and 
Kamahl crushed his beneath a heavy boot. The further they 
went into the Krosan forest, the more creatures they 
encountered. The more creatures they encountered, the more 
they captured.
    Chainer picked up a coal-bellied razorback near a rocky 
ridge, and then killed a second for its meat. Kamahl cooked 
his share immediately. In a marshy riverbed, Chainer took 
on a huge snapping turtle, a small, blue, poisonous frog, 
and a six-foot freshwater alligator. A deadfall yielded a 
sharp-clawed badger, a three-foot beetle that emitted 
clouds of choking spray, and a two-hundred-pound wildcat. 
But it was the snakes that interested Chainer most.
    This section of Otaria was thick with both venom 
hunters and constrictors-from the small but lethal jade 
adder to the medium-sized razorback rattler to the enormous 
rock python that could swallow a man whole. Chainer's face 
lit up every time he saw one, and he abandoned less 
interesting prey the moment he spotted a forked tongue. 
When Kamahl asked him about it, Chainer said he admired 
their speed and their grace, their aim and their muscular 
control. He felt some kind of kinship for the sleek 
reptiles, and Kamahl had seen Chainer fight often enough to 
know that it wasn't just a flight of fancy. Like the 
snakes, Chainer often waited until his prey was within 
range, then struck so quickly that the contest was over 
before his victim realized it had begun.
    Chainer took one of each type of snake into dementia 
space. The rest he killed and shared with Kamahl. Kamahl 
wasn't sure what his friend was doing with the half-dozen 
rattles he had taken from his kills, but he seemed almost 
reverent about preserving them in his satchel, so Kamahl 
left him to it. There was much he didn't understand about 
this trip, but at least Chainer wasn't so intensely morose 
anymore.
    The Cabalist was sitting against a fallen tree, 
counting the rattles in his collection. Kamahl sniffed the 
air, and for the fiftieth time felt that something was 
going wrong. "We're not very deep in, are we?"
    "No," Chainer continued to count, transferring the 
rattles from his hand to a neat line he had arranged on the 
ground beside him. "Don't you think it's odd that we're 
seeing so many creatures this far out?"
    "It's odd," Chainer agreed, "but not remarkable." "But 
there are tribes in the forest," Kamahl said. "Druids and 
Nantuko. We should have seen more of them and less of the 
things we've been hunting."
    "Maybe they heard we were coming and fled," Chainer 
said. He began to put his rattles back into his satchel.
    "That gargadon wasn't fleeing. It was milling around, 
lost, as if it had just been put there."
    Chainer cinched up his satchel. "So?" "So who put it 
there? And why?"
    Chainer stood up. "You're never happy, are you? Either 
there are too many creatures or not enough. Things are 
either too close to the edge of the woods or too far in. 
Don't get all anxious on me now, Kamahl. We'll start seeing 
the really big stuff soon, and I'll need you at your best."
     "I'm always at my best," Kamahl said. "And when you 
say big, do you mean bigger than a gargadon?"
    "I mean bigger than a wildcat or a crocodile. Centaurs 
and wurms. Maybe even a pack of monkeys." The eager look in 
Chainer's eye did nothing to address Kamahl's concerns. "I 
still say this feels wrong. It feels like a trap." "It 
feels like a trap because you barbarians are constantly 
pouncing on each other. If I got jumped every time I went 
to the privy, I'd see traps everywhere, too." He threw a 
handful of dirt on the embers of their campfire. "Come on. 
We've got one more day to get to the heart of Krosan. If we 
don't see any leaf-eaters or dirt-farmers by then, we'll 
ask the First about it when we get back."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Later that afternoon, they heard more rumbling in the 
distance, as another elephantine creature stomped through 
the forest.
    "Could be another gargadon," Chainer said. "Which we 
already have. Even if we were able to kill this one, we 
don't have time to butcher and eat it."
    "So we're letting it go?"
    "Hells no. Not until I see what it is." Chainer smelled 
something familiar, and his heart began to quicken. Kuberr, 
he thought, smile on me now. They jogged for a while, until 
they came across the thing's tracks in the loose dirt and 
mulch that covered the forest floor. The prints were deep, 
but narrow, as if the creature were walking on the balls of 
its feet. There were extra tracks scattered alongside the 
regularly spaced ones where the creature had either gone 
down on all fours like a bear or propelled itself forward 
with its arms like an ape. Chainer followed the tracks as 
he ran, scanning ahead to make sure of his footing and 
behind to make sure Kamahl was keeping up. From around a 
thick copse of trees in the distance, Chainer heard a 
terrifying but familiar roar that made the blood pound in 
his ears.
    "It's a grendelkin," Chainer said. He stood still, 
staring at the copse of trees. As Kamahl came up behind 
him, Chainer said, "This one's for Skellum. Ready?"
    Before Kamahl could answer, the rampant grendelkin 
burst through the trees. It was even bigger than the one 
Chainer had seen in the alley outside Roup's, and this 
one's legs were whole and healthy. With a tree in each 
massive paw, the grendelkin spied Chainer and Kamahl and 
roared a challenge. It threw one tree at them, then 
another, missing by a wide margin but impressing them 
nonetheless. It thumped its chest and then the ground.
    Chainer handed the loaded censer to Kamahl, and with a 
snap of his fingers, the barbarian ignited it. He tossed it 
back to Chainer, who lashed a chain into it as it flew. He 
immediately began spinning it around his head, spreading 
Dragon's Blood smoke all around them. Kamahl readied a 
throwing axe.
    Then a strong gust of wind blew out of the copse, 
carrying a wave of greenish-yellow pollen. Chainer was 
breathing shallow and was partially protected by the smoke 
from his censer, but Kamahl took in a huge lungful of the 
pollen and immediately doubled over in a fit of 
uncontrollable coughing.
    "Kamahl! Are you okay?"
    The barbarian waved Chainer off and dropped the rest of 
the way down to the ground, trying to evade the pollen. 
With his face half-buried in mulch, Kamahl coughed the 
pollen out and tried to suck clear forest air in.
    Chainer hesitated. He didn't want to leave Kamahl in 
the dirt, and he didn't want to face the grendelkin without 
support. The huge monster took a step forward and casually 
snapped the top off another tree. It used the tree as a 
crude club, and it shambled forward, slamming into the 
ground and other trees with each step.
    "Poison," Kamahl choked. His eyes were wet, but he had 
stopped coughing and was struggling back to his feet. 
"There aren't any poisonous plants in this part of Krosan, 
Chainer. We're being set up."
    Thirty yards behind the pair, a long, legless wurm 
slithered onto their tracks. It opened its square reptilian 
head and hissed, displaying the foulest and most jagged set 
of dragon's teeth Chainer had ever seen. A huge, burly 
centaur with spotted markings and a crude wooden club 
trotted out from behind the grendelkin, and a crimson night 
tiger growled from the trees above, its brilliant red hide 
almost glowing under its black stripes.
    "All they've done," Chainer said, "is line themselves 
up for us." From above, a screaming wolf-monkey dove at 
Chainer. It became fouled in the censer chain, tearing it 
out of Chainer's grasp as the monkey itself sprang away 
with the chain tangled around its leg. Chainer sent a 
sharpened weight screaming after the retreating monkey but 
missed by a hair's breadth. The dementist glared at the 
mandrill with awful fire in his eyes.
    "You're mine," he said darkly. "You are all mine." He 
kept his eyes locked on the monkey as he bent to retrieve 
the censer. A long vine whipped out of a nearby tree and 
wrapped itself around Chainer's wrist, and he felt an 
uncomfortable tingle. Moss was growing across his human 
hand, spreading outward from the vine. Chainer slashed his 
wrist loose with his dagger and scraped off the moss before 
it could spread any farther. The dagger took off the top 
layers of skin along with the moss.
    "This is spellcraft." Kamahl was on his feet, standing 
behind Chainer. He had drawn his sword and stood with a 
weapon ready in each hand, his eyes darting from the copse 
to the wurm to the centaur to the tiger.
    "Druid magic?"
    Kamahl nodded. "Someone's pulling their strings." He 
blocked another lashing vine with the flat of his blade and 
chopped the offending tendril off with his axe.
    "That copse of trees seems to be the center of it." 
Chainer flexed his bleeding hand, testing it. "Somebody's 
setting its pets on us. Kamahl, I want those monkeys and 
the grendelkin. The rest can burn, for all I care." He 
smiled at Kamahl and picked up his still-smoking censer. 
"You ready for some burning?"
    Kamahl coughed the last of the pollen out of his lungs 
and spit. "Right now, I'd torch all of Krosan just to clear 
a pathway out of here." His eyes kept traveling back to the 
centaur. Chainer thought his friend looked disturbed, 
distracted by something other than the pollen or the attack 
vines or the platoon of wild beasts that had gathered to 
kill them.
    "Start with the biggest one?" Kamahl asked. Chainer 
nodded, and the two of them charged forward dodging vines 
and screaming monkeys.
    "Okay if I kill a few of these screaming, hairy 
buggers?" Kamahl shouted. A wolf-monkey had pounced on him 
and was resisting his efforts to throw it off.
    "As many as you need to," Chainer said. He didn't even 
make a chain, he simply reached out and crushed the 
monkey's skull with his metal hand. The body shimmered and 
disappeared into Chainer's arm. "I've got the one I need." 
His eyes were black, and he touched his clenched fist to 
his forehead. "For Skellum."
    Another monkey threw itself at Kamahl. The barbarian 
chopped it in half with his broadsword without breaking 
stride. He turned and channeled a blast of fire through his 
blade at the wurm. The legless dragon screeched in pain, 
but the blast did little more than singe its skin. It held 
its ground however, unwilling to risk another blast from 
closer range.
    Chainer rolled away from the centaur's club and whipped 
a collar around its neck. The man-horse reared up and 
jerked the chain out of Chainer's hand, and the collar 
faded as soon as Chainer lost contact with it. Chainer 
sprinted past the centaur to engage the grendelkin as 
Kamahl was keeping the tiger and the wurm at bay with 
blasts of flame. The man-horse galloped after Chainer as 
fast as the underbrush would allow, with his club raised 
high overhead.
    Chainer had a bigger problem with a bigger club, 
however. The grendelkin would not move away from the edge 
of the copse, and he was waving his tree trunk like a 
scythe in front of him. Chainer couldn't get in under the 
tree to attack, and the centaur was bearing down on him 
from behind.
    Chainer jumped as high as he could over the 
grendelkin's next wild swing and latched himself onto the 
end of the tree with a collar chain. The grendelkin waved 
its club with Chainer trailing behind it like the tail of a 
kite. At the apex of the grendelkin's swing, Chainer sent a 
sharpened weight into the organic seam between two of the 
armored plates on the grendelkin's back. Chainer let go of 
the chain that linked him to the tree, and hauled himself 
onto the grendelkin.
    "Eat this," he snarled at the centaur, and unleashed 
the death bloom directly into the back of the grendelkin's 
skull. The monster choked in mid-roar and froze with its 
hand poised to crush Chainer like a stinging fly. Except 
for the monkeys, who were in constant motion and never 
stopped screaming, every sentient thing in the area stopped 
and stared at the dead grendelkin, waiting to see which way 
it would topple.
    Unfortunately for the centaur, Chainer's plan of 
letting the grendelkin fall forward worked perfectly. 
Killing the grendelkin removed Chainer and Kamahl's main 
adversary. Letting its body fall removed five more as the 
centaur, the tiger, and three of the wolf-monkeys were 
crushed by the three-ton carcass.
    Chainer rode the grendelkin through all obstacles as it 
crashed to the forest floor. He spiked a short chain into 
the top of the creature's spine, shuddered, and the giant 
corpse disappeared up into Chainer's body like liquid 
through a sucking straw. Instead of falling, Chainer 
floated, surrounded by a whirling cloud of dust and black 
light. He felt a bomb go off in his head, and he felt a 
body-wide sensation similar to when the justicar fried him. 
Chainer screamed.
    Kamahl had blinded the wurm with his broadsword and was 
preparing to behead the floundering thing when Chainer 
cried out. He hesitated, then brought his sword down and 
leaped away from the thrashing coils. As Chainer continued 
to float and scream, Kamahl felt something angry shift 
inside the copse of trees. A half-dozen wolf-monkeys still 
howled on the battlefield, and the trees themselves were 
starting to move, stretching their branches down and 
reaching for Chainer and Kamahl. From inside the cluster of 
trees, a bald human figure came forward. The chanting druid 
held a crude pine torch in one hand and a thorny bough of 
red berries in the other. He was painted with bright yellow 
markings, and a crown of ivy spread from his head down past 
his shoulders.
    As the first tree limb touched the nimbus around 
Chainer, his scream grew higher and more shrill, building 
to a crescendo of transcendent agony. Inside the cloud, 
Chainer turned his black eye sockets toward the encroaching 
branch. He crossed his arms over his chest, then snapped 
them down his sides and thrust his head back.
    A half-dozen chains leaped from all parts of his body, 
each lashing straight into the throat of a jabbering wolf-
monkey. With his body rigid and his eyes unseeing, Chainer 
brought all of the monkeys together in front of him with a 
nauseous splat. He leveled his eyes at the horrid sight he 
had created and smiled.
    The six wolf-monkeys were mashed together like soft 
clay figurines. Limbs, tails, torsos, and heads were all 
bent and mashed together, merging into one giant gob of 
flesh and teeth with no dis-cernable top, bottom, inside, 
or out. The ones with functioning mouths wailed piteously. 
Chainer's smile grew savage and cruel under his hollow 
eyes. Then the entire mass of monkeys burst like a balloon 
and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
    The druid's chant grew louder, and he hurled the thorns 
into the air. With no animal defenders left, the trees and 
vines redoubled their efforts to take hold of the 
intruders.
    "Kamahl," Chainer's echoing, musical voice called. "Do 
it!"
    Kamahl raised his axe and charged it. He held it by his 
ear until steam started rising from his hand, and then he 
cast it high overhead, dropping it into the middle of the 
copse. Two seconds later, the entire copse was engulfed in 
bright orange flames, and the druid vanished in a cloud of 
flame and soot. Debris rained down all around them, and 
Kamahl took shelter behind the dead wurm. Chainer was less 
fortunate. A jagged chunk of wood slammed into him, 
knocking him out of the air and onto the ground.
    He heard Skellum's last words again. Remember how I 
died.
    "Always, Master," Chainer whispered, tears falling from 
the black space where his eyes had been. "I will always 
remember."
    And then he fell unconscious to the forest floor.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer awoke under the mustard sky. He knew he was 
dreaming, he could see his body from the outside as he 
scanned the landscape. The hole in the sky had run almost 
dry, only releasing an occasional drop. The red sea broke 
on the shore, driven by storm winds and earthquake rumbles.
    Monsters milled around him in their hundreds, 
stretching out in all directions. They did not react to 
Chainer's presence but seemed to be in a state of torpor as 
they shuffled and bumped into one another.
    There was a new addition to the landscape in Chainer's 
mind. The horizon was now broken by a broad, squat mountain 
whose peak glowed like a star. Chainer shielded his eyes 
against the glare and tried to focus on the peak. He must 
be dreaming, for the mountain was shrinking down to meet 
him, bowing its peak like a servant bows its head.
    An indistinct figure sat on a throne at the mountain's 
peak, backlit by a sphere of harsh purple light. Dazzled by 
the mad perspective as much as the purple light, Chainer 
could not determine how far away the figure was, if it were 
humanoid, male or female. He could see the mountain, 
however, and he saw that it was not made of rock or mounded 
earth, but of currency. Huge piles of golden coins and 
silver markers were heaped on top of one another to create 
a single pyramid that stretched impossibly high into the 
sky. The figure leaned forward on its throne.
    "Kuberr?" Chainer whispered. Was this what Skellum had 
wanted him to see? His mentor had sworn frequent oaths to 
Kuberr over the years. Did he have a vision of the wealth 
god as part of the shikar ritual?
    Mazeura. The figure's voice was deep and sonorous, and 
it blasted Chainer's secret name through his head so 
violently that he felt blood trickling out his ears. It's a 
dream, he reminded himself. It's all a dream.
    The mountain peak swayed to and fro, allowing the regal 
figure to survey the landscape and population of Chainer's 
mind. Well done, dementist.
    The figure opened its arms wide, beckoning Chainer in. 
The mountain bowed further, and Chainer felt the ground 
beneath him rise up to carry him into those outstretched 
arms. He had pledged his life to the Cabal, and now he knew 
for whom he had pledged. There was power in the salt flats, 
power in Cabal City, power in the personage of the First. 
The expanding figure before him, however, was beyond power. 
It was that vast and nameless energy the Cabal had been 
created to harness, to use according to its consumptive 
nature. If black mana was the fuel, then the regal figure 
welcoming Chainer was its source.
    Delirious with joy, Chainer closed his eyes and let 
himself be swallowed up by the dark figure that had 
expanded to fill the entire sky.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    When the flaming shrapnel slowed, Kamahl rose and 
surveyed the battlefield. The flames were still raging in 
the copse of trees. The wurm and one of the wolf-monkeys 
lay dead at his feet, victims of his sword. The crimson 
night tiger and the centaur were little more than colorful 
smears on the grass, and Chainer was unconscious between 
them. There was no sign of the grendelkin or the other 
wolf-monkeys. It seemed he and Chainer had won, but he 
didn't feel much like a victor.
    Kamahl sheathed his sword and crossed the field to his 
partner. The fight and the explosion had driven every other 
living thing within earshot as far away as they could get, 
and the forest was remarkably still. Chainer was breathing 
normally, but he was unrouseable. Kamahl half-carried, 
half-dragged him clear of the fire and tucked him safely 
behind a large, mossy boulder. Then he returned to the 
crushed corpse of the tiger.
    Regret was not a common emotion for Kamahl's tribe. 
They spent most of their time in combat or training for it, 
and they tended to live short, brutal lives with little 
time for reflection. As he looked down on the magnificent 
red and black hide of the tiger, he regretted that he 
hadn't seen the creature hunt. It would have been beautiful 
in motion, a study in grace and power.
    Kamahl turned, experiencing another unfamiliar rush of 
emotion. Kamahl had made two great friends on his first 
visit to Cabal City. One lay unconscious by a nearby 
boulder, and the other looked almost exactly like the dead 
centaur at his feet. Kamahl remembered Seaton clearly, his 
huge, apelike brow and his fierce protective streak for his 
home. He remembered how Seaton had become enraged when 
describing the poachers who raided his home, taking from 
the wild to stock the pits. Seaton's crusade was not 
Kamahl's quest, but he respected it, and he respected the 
centaur. Only now did Kamahl realize that he himself was 
one of those poachers.
    Kamahl knew the shikar was only a small portion of the 
problem, but he was now part of it. He let himself be 
blinded to it because he had never had to defend his home 
from invaders. There was nothing in the Pardic Mountains 
worth taking, so invaders were completely unheard of. All 
the tribes Kamahl knew of, including his own, spent the 
greater part of their adulthood roaming Otaria looking for 
ways to improve their skills and their fortunes. Kamahl had 
spent so much time fighting in other people's homes that 
he'd forgotten not everyone welcomes such company. This 
dead centaur could have been Seaton's father, or brother, 
he thought. It could have been Seaton.
    The fire in the copse of trees had died down, so Kamahl 
went in as far as he could. He found the druid's body 
crushed against a blackened tree. He had been a short, 
broad-shouldered male of about twenty. He had constructed a 
small stone altar in the center of the copse, which was 
half-disintegrated by the blast. Whatever spells or 
summonings he had been performing were long gone. He still 
held a fragment of pine wood in his charred fingers.
    Kamahl's emotions had retreated. Now he felt only the 
clarity of the choice in front of him and the determination 
to see his decision through.
    While Chainer slept, Kamahl built pyres for the druid, 
the centaur, and the tiger. He built another fire for the 
camp near Chainer's boulder, and then one-by-one he ignited 
them all with a snap of his fingers. Then he stuck his 
sword tip-first into the ground and waited for Chainer to 
wake up.
 
                       CHAPTER 19
 
    Chainer and Kamahl hiked back toward the edge of the 
forest and the road to Cabal City. Chainer had slept until 
almost noon. The first thing he did when  he  awoke  was  
to  ask Kamahl to check his eyes. The barbarian reported 
that they appeared to be normal, and Chainer was both 
relieved   and   disappointed.   The shikar felt like it 
was finished. He couldn't  imagine  anything  more 
impressive than the vision he'd just had.
    Kamahl took the news that the hunt was over as if he 
had been expecting it. Chainer was prepared to explain why, 
but the barbarian didn't ask. There was something about his 
manner, however, something defiant that made Chainer think 
his partner was planning to go back to Cabal City no matter 
what Chainer said. He didn't press the issue, still 
euphoric over his vision of Kuberr.
    They saw virtually no wildlife at all as they reversed 
their course back through the forest. Chainer thought how 
vast the entire forest must be, and how many creatures it 
hid. He could probably go on shikar once a year, and he 
would still never see all of the Krosan before he died.
    Kamahl was silent throughout most of the day, and 
Chainer was still too lost in his own thoughts to draw his 
friend out. They hiked through dinner and stopped to make 
camp only when the sun was on the verge of setting. At this 
pace, with the hunt concluded ahead of schedule, they were 
likely to get back an entire day sooner than expected.
    The next morning saw them up at dawn and out of the 
forest by lunchtime. They stopped on the edge of the 
forest, ate the last of their provisions, and drank the 
last of their water according to the ritual. The only 
things they were allowed to bring back were in Chainer's 
head. With only a few hours of daylight left, they hiked 
into the deserted remains of what appeared to be a large 
Order camp. Kamahl scanned the vast plain that stretched 
out before him. "Chainer," he said carefully, "do you see 
an army? Where would a thousand Order troops go all at 
once?"
    "Crusat," Chainer's stomach went cold with hate. "They 
were massing for a huge raid on the Cabal City pits." He 
grabbed Kamahl's arm. "We've got to get back there."
    Kamahl was looking down the road at the Order's stable. 
"The Order always brings more steeds than it needs. Can you 
ride, Cabalist?" "I rode a hellhound once, I can damn sure 
handle whatever those toy soldiers sit on."
    Kamahl grunted. "Good. Wait here, I'll go get us some 
transport." He paused, then added, "Provided you don't want 
to whip us up a pair of three-headed horses that breathe 
fire, or anything."
    Chainer felt an unaccountable sting of insult. He 
smiled, however, and said, "Don't know if I'm up to a 
precise-creature casting right now. And in general, my 
monsters don't want to be ridden, and we don't want to ride 
them." "Order steeds it is, then."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Kamahl was able to appropriate two strong chargers from 
the Order stables without interference. There were minimal 
guards on duty and plenty of animals to choose from. Two 
things were obvious to Kamahl. First, the Order had taken 
from the Krosan forest a hundred times what he and Chainer 
had. Second, wherever the troopers had gone, they had gone 
there on foot.
    Both Order horses were white, of course. Kamahl 
muttered an angry spell and then singed a hand print into 
his mount's flank. Chainer tied three of his snake rattles 
into the other horse's mane, then they rode east all night 
long without stopping. They were good horses, fast and 
strong. As the first rays of sunlight revealed the skull-
image of Cabal City's huge arena and the spires of the 
First's manor, the chargers were sweaty and foaming and 
beginning to stumble, and both men brought their horses to 
a slow trot.
    "Do you see that, Chainer?" Kamahl asked. Chainer had 
excellent night vision, but he knew Kamahl's was even 
sharper.
    "All I see is the skyline. And ... a crowd of people at 
the gates. Are those arrows?"
    Kamahl drew his sword. Most swords Chainer was familiar 
with came out of their scabbards with a crisp rasp of metal 
on metal. Kamahl's, however, came out with a long, 
protracted hiss that lingered in the air like a threat. The 
huge weapon looked somehow right at home in Kamahl's fist, 
though the sword was almost longer than its wielder.
    "The Order is attacking your city," Kamahl said. "I 
have a problem with that. Care to join me in solving this 
problem?"
    "Oh yes," Chainer's voice was cold. "Yes I certainly 
would." He shook the rattles in the mane before him. "Will 
they get us there?"
    "They'll last at least that long." Kamahl lifted his 
feet to dig his heels into his mount, but Chainer took him 
by the shoulder and called him by name.
    "What?" the barbarian growled. "The fight's started 
without us." "Thank you," Chainer said. He looked back 
toward the woods, at the battle unfolding in the distance, 
and finally at Kamahl's drawn sword. "Thank you for 
everything." Kamahl smiled for the first time in days. 
"Thank me after we clean house," he said, and spurred his 
charger forward, into the fray.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Their horses carried them as far as the main gates. 
There, Chainer and Kamahl dismounted. The barbarian charged 
forward to join the melee at the gates, where the crusat 
raiders were most numerous. He saluted Chainer before 
rushing off. Chainer himself needed to get inside, to 
rejoin his fellow Cabalists and determine where he could do 
the most good. He followed the walls of the city around to 
the south, where the secret tunnels were.
    Cabal City was a city of over fifty thousand, but it 
seemed even more crowded with the entire population and 
over a thousand armed invaders on the streets. Chainer 
realized the battle at the front gate was mostly a 
distraction. The Order had attacked all three gates, not 
just the one to the east, and they were already running 
rampant through the city. The crusat troopers were not 
cutting down civilians in the street, but they were fairly 
trampling anything that stood between them and the Cabal 
strongholds at the center of the city.
    Chainer had never been to war before, but he soon got 
the hang of it. The trick, he realized, is to treat the 
entire situation like a huge pit match in which you and 
your team were vastly outnumbered. As long as you hit what 
you aimed at, there was no shortage of targets. As long as 
you kept moving, there was no way for you to get pinned 
down. Also, the Order troops were focused on storming the 
arena, and none of them stopped to fight Chainer unless he 
physically blocked their progress.
    After breaking a few bones and knocking a few invaders 
down, Chainer simply joined the headlong rush toward the 
arena. Cabal City's citizens were rushing there for 
sanctuary, or to escape via the docks, and the crusat was 
rushing there to bum it, or loot it, or whatever it was 
that righteous armies did. Chainer was headed straight for 
the Mirari, to defend it as he had once before. Only now, 
he was a full-fledged dementist instead of a pupil.
    There was another crush outside of the arena as 
soldiers tried to get in and the door guards tried to keep 
them out. A few armed Cabalists grappled with sword-bearing 
soldiers. Chainer planted his feet, positioned his hands, 
and reached deep into dementia space. His hands flashed, 
and a carriage-sized wad of smoke and indiscriminate flesh 
arced high up on the arena's exterior wall, where it burst 
open like a balloon packed with splintered glass.
    The wolf-monkeys that came out were even larger than 
their Krosan counterparts, and each had a small poisonous 
snake in place of its tongue. There were an even dozen in 
all, and twelve individual chains arced from the collars 
around their necks to Chainer's open hands. At first, the 
nightmare mandrills tried to attack anything that moved, 
but Chainer punished them with searing agony every time 
they snapped at a Cabalist. They quickly realized which 
part of the crowd was fair game, and the screams of monkeys 
mingled with the screams of the dismembered soldiers. 
Chainer even released two or three of them from theit 
collars, and they redoubled their efforts to rip the 
invaders to pieces.
    Chainer darted through the momentarily unblocked 
entrance. A hook-handed door guard touched his weapon to 
his forehead in acknowledgment as Chainer rushed past. 
Before he turned the comer, Chainer physically and mentally 
pulled all of his wolf-monkeys in and rechained them all to 
the stone doorway. Now anyone who wanted to get in would 
have to get past the howling troop. Anyone who made it past 
them would either be Cabal or be disemboweled. Chainer 
sprinted toward the vault hallway.
    He turned a corner and came face-to-face with a trio of 
troopers fighting a pitched battle against a huge, black 
hellhound and a four-armed cyclops, the hulking result of 
another dementia caster's efforts. The dog had clamped on 
to the end of one trooper's sword, while the other two 
jabbed at the cyclops with their spears.
    "Chainer!" Fulla cried, stepping out from behind the 
cyclops. One of the Order soldiers struck at her, and she 
angrily turned and cast a snarling red-eyed rat into the 
man's face. He fell back screaming.
    "Fulla." Chainer cracked a chain across the sword-
bearing trooper's face. As the trooper recoiled, the 
hellhound tore out her throat. The big dog turned and 
barked once at Chainer, exasperated.
    "Hello, Azza," he said. Chainer, Azza, Fulla, and the 
cyclops all closed in on the remaining trooper.
    "I give," the man said instantly. He dropped his spear 
and held up his hands. "In the name of-"
    Fulla's ugly little sword split the trooper's skull 
before he could utter another word. For a moment she looked 
annoyed, and she held the bloody sword out to Chainer.
    " 'I give.' Can you believe these maggots?" She wiped 
the sword on the dead man's uniform.
    Azza barked, and Fulla waved the cyclops away. She 
stepped forward and hugged Chainer, rifling his hair like 
an indulgent aunt. "Azza was worried. And I've been so 
bored. You're not going to become one of those snotty 
dementists now, are you?" Then she stood and asked him 
brightly, "So, tell me everything. How was the forest?"
    Chainer smiled. "Crowded. The shikar, however, was a 
spectacular success."
    Azza sniffed the air and growled to let her fellow 
Cabalists know there was something coming.
    "Well, little brother," Fulla said. "Can you show me 
what you learned in the forest, or do I have to clear this 
building of toy soldiers by myself?"
    "Oh, let me show you," Chainer said. He felt his feet 
rise off the floor, and without seeing his reflection, he 
knew his eyes had gone black. Fulla's smile grew wider and 
crueler as Chainer drew on the power he had earned.
    "This had better be good," Fulla said.
    Azza whined softly, but held her ground.
    Chainer crossed his arms as he floated and dropped his 
chin down to his chest. Fulla's cry of delight overlapped 
Chainer's cry of release as he snapped his arms down and 
his head back.
    Ribbons of smoke and black light radiated out from 
Chainer's body in every direction. Most ran straight 
through the arena's stone walls without resistance, but 
some ricocheted back and forth inside the hallway. Chainer 
floated there for a few long seconds then gently settled 
onto the floor.
    "That should do it," he said. His voice and his eyes 
were returning to normal. He gallantly offered his arm to 
Fulla.
    "Do what?" Fulla took his arm but stared at him in 
confusion.
    "I've just retaken the entire arena," Chainer said 
proudly. He stumbled, but Fulla caught him and propped him 
up against the wall. She whispered something to Azza, and 
the huge dog ambled over to Chainer and bent low, so that 
he could climb on.
    "Thank you." Chainer eased himself onto Azza's strong 
back. "Skellum always said, 'It takes more out of you than 
you realize.' " The sadness and anger over his mentor's 
death was still there, but it didn't sting quite like it 
did before. Completing the shikar had gone a long way 
toward putting Skellum to rest. Using what he'd learned 
during the ritual to drive the Order out felt even better.
    "To the vault, please," he said to Azza. The three 
walked through the suddenly silent building, but only Azza 
and Fulla were amazed by what they saw.
    There were still small squads of troopers throughout 
the arena, but each and every Order soldier was covered in 
squirming serpents. Huge, venomous, in a wide array of 
unnatural shapes and sizes, the snakes covered each invader 
like a shroud. Those that could walk or run were being 
cornered and killed by the Cabal's guards. As each Order 
soldier fell, the body and any lingering serpents 
disappeared into the gloom.
    Fulla made a game of counting the dead, but she had to 
give up when they came close to the vault and there was no 
one left. Outside, the battle raged on, but inside the 
arena, it had already been won. "How did you do that all 
over the building?" Fulla asked. Chainer was interrupted by 
a thud and a clatter as a live crusat trooper stumbled out 
of a door further up the hallway. The terrified man held 
his sword out in front of him with both hands, and he still 
couldn't keep its point off the floor. He had a sergeant's 
insignia on his shoulder.
    "Hello, Bunkus," Chainer's voice was low but firm. "S-
stand where you are," Sgt. Baankis said feebly. His skin 
was pale, and his eyes were unfocused. "In the name of the 
Order, I-"
    "I'd stop citing things in the name of the Order, if I 
were you." Azza growled and tried to shrug Chainer off, but 
he patted her neck soothingly. "No, big sister. Leave him 
to me."
    Baankis managed to get his sword pointed in Chainer's 
general direction.
    "In the name of the Order," the sergeant repeated, "and 
in the name of Major Teroh, I-"
    The chain shot across the room and wrapped itself 
around Baankis's throat before he could utter another word. 
The sergeant's jaw opened and closed, but no sound came out 
as the chain dug deep into his windpipe.
    "In the name of the Order," Chainer maintained his low, 
even tone, "you have broken into our home, attacked our 
family, and tried to steal our property. Again. I can't 
think of a single reason to keep listening to you. Can 
you?" Baankis dropped his sword with a clatter and clawed 
at his throat.
    "Fulla?" Chainer asked. "Azza? No? Then we're all in 
agreement." Chainer held his position until Sgt. Baankis 
silently expired. As the body fell forward, it collapsed 
into the length of chain and disappeared up Chainer's arm. 
Azza growled approvingly, and Fulla rocked from one foot to 
the other.
    "Do it again!" she cried.
    Chainer didn't hear them as he stared at his hand. 
Before today, he had never taken a human being the way he 
had taken the denizens of Krosan forest. He was surprised 
that it didn't feel any different.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    After Chainer stopped them at the arena, the Order 
troops aborted their mission and began a costly retreat. 
The First ordered every able-bodied Cabalist to harry the 
invaders until they were a mile outside the city walls, and 
the righteous crusat raid on Cabal City ended in disaster. 
The outnumbered Order troops desperately tried to break out 
of the city they had just successfully stormed, fighting 
the city guards at the gates and the Cabal's killers on 
their rear flank. If the First had ordered the main gates 
closed, the entire raiding force would have been 
slaughtered. As it was, almost half of their number never 
left Cabal City again. Of those who stayed, only a handful 
remained dead.
    Chainer had watched the retreat from Azza's back near 
the steps of the arena. He knew that there were huge, 
gargadon-sized monstrosities hidden in the caverns below 
the manor, but the First was content to keep them in 
reserve. It seemed he wanted the Cabalists to beat back the 
raiders themselves, and he wanted some of the enemy to 
escape. Chainer reminded himself that the First had global 
concerns which he would never be privy to, and took faith 
in the First's wisdom.
    Once the furor at the gate had died down and the 
fighting moved beyond the city walls, Chainer and Azza went 
looking for Kamahl.
    The big barbarian might have joined the running battle, 
but Chainer expected to find him close by. Kamahl had been 
more interested in defending the city than the Cabal. 
Chainer made no such distinction, but he was glad that 
something had sparked his friend's fighting spirit after 
the shikar.
    The dead, the wounded, and the unconscious were 
scattered around the main gates like leaves in autumn. 
Scavengers from the squatters' huts were already poking 
around, looking for valuables. Azza growled angrily, and 
the scavengers wisely withdrew.
    Chainer saw a few white-robed Samites milling around as 
well, looking for survivors to care for. There were also 
two or three black-robed Cabal healers, who were known in 
the pits as "leeches." The two groups took pains to avoid 
each other and communicated only through cold stares. Azza 
sniffed and whined. She bounded forward, almost tossing 
Chainer off.
    Kamahl was lying face-down in the center of a charred 
and smoking circle. His sword was missing, and he had taken 
a heavy blow to the right side of his face. His right hand 
clutched at a stab wound in his stomach that was filling 
his tunic with blood. His hands, feet, arms, and face were 
horribly burned.
    Chainer paused only long enough to stare at the Samite 
healer approaching them. She was tall and willowy with a 
concerned air, and she offered her hand out to Chainer. "I 
am Nibahn. I am a Samite. I can help him, brother. I can 
help all who suffer." She started to kneel next to Kamahl, 
but Azza stopped her with a growl.
    "The Cabal is here," Chainer called, and one of the 
black-robed healers answered. Nibahn shook her head sadly, 
eyes pleading, but Chainer drew his dagger and began idly 
cleaning his fingernails. Azza growled again, and the 
Samite withdrew.
    The Cabal healer bowed to Chainer and Azza. He had a 
wide black stripe tattooed over his left eye from his 
hairline to his jawline and a wispy black mustache. The 
healer was an oily little rat-faced toad, but Chainer 
trusted him because he knew how to motivate him.
    With a wave, Chainer whipped a collar around the 
healer's ankles. He yanked the healer's feet out from under 
him, and Azza stalked forward, so that her huge head was 
directly over the healer's, and her great, snorting breaths 
puffed into his face.
    "Take this barbarian inside," Chainer said, "and keep 
him alive. Do nothing apart from keep him alive and 
comfortable until I come for him." He leaned over the 
healer himself, almost overbalancing, and his eyes went 
black. "Nothing. Do you understand?"
    The healer sniveled, his eyes darting between Azza and 
Chainer. "I do, big brother."
    Azza turned and carried Chainer away. He saw the healer 
rise and motion for his assistants. He clearly heard the 
healer say, "Gently, very gently."
 
                       CHAPTER 2O
 
    Laquatus stood in the First's private chamber at the 
head of a small group of Cabalists and dignitaries. They 
had all been summoned in the wake of the raid, ostensibly 
to testify about their whereabouts and report what they had 
seen. The Mer ambassador recognized a simple call for 
scapegoats, however.
    He was unconcerned for himself. His contact with Major 
Teroh had been completely innocent, or at least, absolutely 
secret. Even if the First knew he had been in contact with 
the Order, Laquatus felt secure. There was nothing in the 
content of his exchanges with Teroh that was incriminating. 
If Teroh read a hidden meaning into the ambassador's words, 
Laquatus could easily feign shock and could well afford to 
make restitution. Besides, he was certain the First 
understood the political necessity of keeping in touch with 
one's enemies as well as one's allies, especially in these 
troubled times.
    The captain of the city watch standing next to him was 
not so confident. The man had the common, earthy stink of 
fear all over him, and with good reason. The city's 
defenses were virtually nonexistent during the opening 
minutes of the raid, and so far no one had come up with an 
explanation of how the Order was able to penetrate so far 
into the city so quickly. There were even rumors that the 
captain had betrayed the Cabal and given the Order free 
access to the heart of the city, but Laquatus knew for a 
fact they were false. He surreptitiously stepped further 
away from the captain, however, for his was the most likely 
head to fall.
    Next to the captain stood Chainer, the young dementist 
who was going to provide a replacement for Turg. Chainer 
seemed calm, almost tranquil compared to the captain, but 
Laquatus was having a difficult time seeing into the boy's 
mind. Most of the individuals he encountered in person were 
as defenseless as if they had peepholes installed in their 
foreheads that Laquatus could peer into at any time. 
Chainer was more like Caster Fulla, however. Instead of a 
peephole, his mind was guarded by a tortured maze of 
mirrors. Every time Laquatus looked in, all he saw were 
distorted images of himself.
    The boy Chainer kept glancing to his right at Louche, a 
sallow Cabalist who had just become the new Master of the 
Games. Louche's mind was more open than Chainer's and 
calmer than the captain's, but there was no useful 
information in it. It was full of facts and figures and 
deals and deadlines, all glued together with acrid contempt 
for almost all sentient being.
    The First swept into the room with his attendants 
hovering all around him. The killers on the wall stood a 
little straighter as he passed them, and the entire 
entourage took up their positions at the far end of the 
room. The First's mind was even more closed to Laquatus 
than Chainer's.
    "I will be brief," the First said. "I am conducting a 
basic inquiry into the recent visit we received from the 
crusat. Captain Fleer."
    "Yes, Pater." Sweat fairly poured from Fleer's 
forehead.
    "Explain the guards' poor performance."
    "It was a well-organized attack," Fleer stammered. 
"They hit us on three sides simultaneously."
    The First nodded to one of his hand attendants, who was 
busily transcribing the captain's words. "West, north, and 
south?"
    "Yes, Pater."
    "But not from the east. Not from the sea." He looked at 
Laqua-tus meaningfully, but the ambassador kept his face 
and his thoughts blank.
    "No, Pater. There was no attack on the port or the 
docks."
    "That you know of."
    "Uh ... no, Pater. Not that I know of."
    "And yet, somehow an entire squadron of crusat fanatics 
was able to gain access to the arena."
    "Yes, Pater."
    "And storm the vault in an effort to seize the Mirari."
    "Yes, Pater."
    "And you have no idea how they were able to get to the 
arena so quickly?"
    "No, Pater. We killed or wounded hundreds," he added 
desperately. "They took heavy casualties in their retreat."
    "Because they took almost none in the attack. Be 
silent, Captain." The First turned his withering white gaze 
on Laquatus. "Ambassador," he said. "I trust you were not 
inconvenienced by the attack?"
    "Not at all, O Patriarch. If not for the noise, I doubt 
I would have even known there was an attack."
    "Outstanding. As you know, the comfort of our visitors 
is something we city dwellers pride ourselves on. We would 
never want to breach the sacred bond between host and 
guest."
    "That bond is as strong as ever, my lord."
    "You must understand, however, that these events will 
impact the plans we have already made."
    "Of course, my lord." Laquatus swallowed his first 
taste of uncertainty. "I trust it will not impact them too 
. . . dramatically?"
    "That remains to be seen." The First addressed Louche. 
"Master of the Games," he said, and Laquatus saw Chainer's 
mild surprise tinged with . . . disappointment? Laquatus 
wasn't sure, but clearly Chainer had not been aware of 
Louche's promotion.
    "Pater."
    "Your predecessor allowed the arena to be taken like 
some lonely mountain outpost. The pits are now in your 
hands. Will they be ready for the anniversary games ?"
    Louche's lips moved as he juggled figures in his head. 
"Three months from now, Pater?"
    "Two months, three weeks," the First said.
    Louche nodded. "No problem. The damage to the 
facilities was mostly cosmetic. The crowds will be down for 
the next few weeks because the spectators will be afraid of 
another raid. They'll forget, though. By the time the 
anniversary rolls around, everything will be back to 
normal."
    "Outstanding. Be sure that all the shills and runners 
know the date. I want the arena full."
    "Yes, Pater."
    The First now turned his milky gaze on Chainer. He 
smiled warmly. "Master Chainer," he said.
    "Pater." Chainer seemed completely at ease, almost 
disinterested.
    "Once again, the Cabal owes you its thanks. It is 
impossible to tell how much damage the Order would have 
done-" he glared at Fleer- "if you hadn't arrived in time 
to stop them."
    "I am your obedient child."
    "That you are. But there should be more of a reward 
than my praise. Is there anything you desire? If it is 
within my power, it shall be yours."
    "I require nothing, Pater," Chainer said. "Though my 
friend and partner Kamahl was gravely injured during the 
raid. He is not Cabal, yet he put his own body in harm's 
way on the Cabal's behalf."
    "Then your friend and partner also has my thanks. His 
wounds are being seen to?"
    "They are. But if it pleases you, Pater, I have chosen 
my reward."
    "Name it."
    "Give me the Mirari," Chainer said, and Laquatus fought 
the urge to cry out.
    "Not to keep," the young dementist went on, "but to use 
on my friend."
    "I was unaware that the Mirari had healing powers," the 
First said. Laquatus heard an element of suspicion in the 
Patriarch's voice, suspicion that Laquatus shared. How did 
the boy know something about the Mirari that neither 
Laquatus or the First knew?
    "As far as I know, it doesn't. But the extent of my 
powers has yet to be defined. I would like to try to help 
my friend with the Mirari in my hands."
    Laquatus could no longer contain himself. "No one yet 
has touched the Mirari and lived," he blurted.
    Chainer smiled. "Except for me, Ambassador. And I only 
seek to borrow the Mirari, not to own it."
    The First paused, obviously deep in thought. "It shall 
be done," he said. "Although I shall accompany you, to 
protect the Cabal's interests."
    "Of course, Pater."
    "I should very much like to see the Mirari in the hands 
of an expert," Laquatus said. "Twice now I have watched it 
destroy its temporary owners."
    "Your presence is not necessary," Chainer said. 
Laquatus was preparing to argue when Chainer continued, 
addressing the First. "Although I would also like to employ 
the Mirari as an aid in fulfilling our bargain with the 
ambassador. I can provide him with a new familiar at any 
time, but with the Mirari in hand, I can exceed his 
expectations."
    "I have no objections to the dementist's proposal," 
Laquatus said quickly.
    The First was slower to respond. "Very well," he said. 
"But one use of the Mirari is a reward. The second must be 
paid for."
    "Pater. I am always at your service."
    "When shall the Mirari be employed on my behalf?" 
Laquatus asked.
    Chainer and the First exchanged a knowing glance, then 
each nodded. Laquatus was beside himself that they were 
communicating right in front of him, and he had no idea 
.what they were saying.
    "Two days hence," the First said, and Chainer nodded 
again. "Now, there is one final matter that I need to 
address." He clapped his hands once, and the former Master 
of the Games was dragged, bound and kicking, into the 
chamber. She was gagged, but she continued to babble 
incoherently through the heavy cloth.
    "Capau, be still." The sound of her secret name drained 
all the energy out of the former Master of the Games. She 
stood dazed and listless, her eyes glassy and fearful. The 
First gestured, and one of his attendants stepped forward 
and slashed her bonds from her wrists and ankles. The 
former Master of the Games stood perfectly still as if 
unaware of her new freedom.
    Laquatus stole a glance at Louche, who had just taken 
over the dangerous position. For once the bitter little man 
was not thinking of how much others annoyed him. In fact, 
Laquatus didn't need to read minds to understand the 
sickly, haunted look on Louche's face.
    "Sadget, step forward" the First intoned, and Fleer 
woodenly took up the space next to the bound master.
    "You have failed, my children," the First said. "But in 
the Cabal failure is not punishable by death. Failure 
requires correction, not extinction. Your failures, 
however, have cost the Cabal too much. You will make amends 
for the lives and the materials wasted by your blundering." 
The First spread his arms wide, and for once none of his 
attendants jumped forward to do his bidding. In fact, 
Laquatus thought, even the near-mindless hand attendants 
were staying well clear of Fleer and the formerly bound 
woman.
    "I forgive you, my children, for your failure." The 
First smiled at Laquatus, and added, "My greatest flaw is a 
tendency to overindulge my family. I can never stay angry 
at them for long." Laquatus smiled politely, but the 
Cabalists continued to writhe in horror before the First.
    "Capau. Sadget. Accept your forgiveness, and your 
Pater's love. Embrace me and settle your account, so this 
matter can be forgotten."
    Laquatus saw frenzied bolts of terror flash across 
Louche's mind, and even Chainer seemed apprehensive. The 
merman was fascinated. He had never seen anyone so much as 
brush the sleeve of the First's robe. He understood 
physical contact with their patriarch was the Cabalists' 
only taboo, and yet two of them were being beckoned into 
the First's arms by the man himself.
    The errant Cabalists stepped woodenly forward, 
shuffling like sleepwalkers. Tears of terror were streaming 
down Fleer's face, and the former Master of the Games 
seemed almost catatonic. They came forward, however, and 
stood perfectly still as the First wrapped them both in his 
long arms.
    As soon as the gray flesh of the First's hand touched 
the squirming Cabalists, they began to scream. The First 
tightened his grip and locked his hands together with Fleer 
and the deposed master held tight. Their skin blackened 
where he touched it. The patches of stricken skin spread 
like fire across a pool of oil, and fine tendrils of black 
smoke drifted from the victims into the First's waiting 
nostrils. The Cabal patriarch tightened his grip again and 
threw his head back. The two figures in his arms were now 
scarcely recognizable as human. Instead, they seemed to be 
delicate, paper-thin flowers that were drooping, dying, and 
rotting all in a matter of seconds. The hollow, brittle 
rinds of two adult Cabalists collapsed into a thousand 
fragments as the last of their essence was converted into 
ebon mist and absorbed by the First.
    "Now," the First had grown larger, more robust, "all is 
truly forgiven." He clapped his hands together, dislodging 
ashen fragments from his sleeves. "Chainer," he said, "stay 
with me. The rest of you are dismissed with my thanks."
    Laquatus followed Louche as the guards led them out and 
down the hallway. He would have to be especially careful 
now. In two days he would be in the same room with the 
Mirari while Chainer employed it. Everyone else who tried 
to use the sphere died in cataclysmic circumstances while 
the Mirari rolled free. If Chainer were going to destroy 
himself as Pianna and Aboshan had, Laquatus intended to 
make sure that this time he was the one who caught the 
bouncing ball.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    While the others were led away, the First had his 
attendants hold up documents for him to read, nodding once 
for each when he was finished. The attendants made the 
First's mark on the scrolls he approved, then took them 
away.
    "It was a terrible thing, this crusat raid," the First 
said.
    Chainer nodded.
    "Such a thing should never be allowed to happen again," 
the First continued.
    Chainer nodded.
    "There were a hundred Cabal fatalities and twice a 
hundred injuries. But even more than for the murder of our 
brethren, I want Major Teroh and the other hard-liners to 
pay for their arrogance. Do they think they can attack us 
in our own home and walk away with only a bloodied nose? 
They owe us restitution, and no one walks away from a Cabal 
debt."
    "The First is wise."
    "You know what I'm going to ask, don't you?" The 
First's eyes were calm and wide.
    "Yes, Pater."
    "And in return, you know I will grant you a second use 
of the Mirari."
    "Yes, Pater."
    "When can you leave?"
    "Tonight, Pater. After I have visited Kamahl and tried 
my best to heal him. He was instrumental in my shikar. I 
cannot leave him to the leeches."
    The First nodded. "What did you think of my 
demonstration?"
    Chainer paused. "I think the ambassador either 
encouraged or enabled the raid. I think he still wants the 
Mirari. I think he intends to use it to take control of 
Mer, and then he will come for Otaria."
    "He will try," the First agreed. "But there is value in 
an ally with no morals. If he will betray us to the Order, 
he will in turn betray the Order to us."
    "The First is wise."
    "Let us discuss the details of the casting you have 
planned for him. I may be able to ... improve the overall 
result."
    "As soon as I return, Pater."
    "Outstanding. Now," he thrust his hands deep into the 
sleeves of his robe. "Let us attend to your barbarian 
friend."
 
                       CHAPTER 21
 
    Thirty miles up the eastern road from Cabal City, the 
Samite sanctuary was filled to capacity. Nibahn the healer 
was on her third trip to the apothecary for clean bandages 
and sleeping herbs. The majority of her patients were 
expected to live through the night, but only if she and her 
staff worked round the clock. She believed utterly in the 
Order, but she despised the brutality of the crusat. The 
Samite way of universal tolerance was the only way she knew 
to bring about a better world.
    Halfway back to the hospital, a whispered voice from 
the shadows hissed, "Healer." Nibahn adjusted the thick 
bundle of bandages and clay bottles under one arm and 
approached the sound. "Hello? Are you wounded? All are 
welcome. All are safe. Will you come forward?" She could 
make out two human figures in the darkness, two men of 
roughly equal size. One of them took a half step forward 
and spoke.
    "Kindness for kindness, Samite. No one walks away from 
a Cabal debt." Nibahn felt something round and hard strike 
her forehead, and she fell back in a swoon. Though 
conscious, she was too stunned by the blow to see or move. 
Someone wrapped metal bonds around her hands, and dragged 
her roughly by the collar into the shadows.
    "You understand why you're here?" the whispering voice 
said to something in the shadows. The only reply was an 
angry, ominous buzz.
    "Then go," the voice said, and Nibahn heard no more.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Major Teroh made a brief obeisance to the angel 
guarding the door and entered the hospital. The Samites 
were deluded fools, but their healing arts had been handed 
down for thousands of years and were still unmatched.
    Inside, the Major scowled as he took in the rows and 
rows of wounded troopers, aven and human alike. Teroh 
cursed Laquatus for giving him the idea for the raid, but 
he could not blame everything on the ambassador. The merman 
had gotten them into the heart of the city with some sort 
of water teleportation spell, just as he had promised. It 
was a risky plan from the start, and the Cabal had offered 
far more resistance than Teroh had expected.
    Still, he thought, as he continued to tour the 
hospital, it might not be a complete loss. The Cabal still 
held the Mirari, but now that the crusat was open and 
declared, other Order commanders from all around Otaria 
were contacting Teroh, looking to join his army. It would 
be well worth the loss of a few hundred troopers if a few 
thousand rose up in righteous fury to avenge them.
    There was a scuffle at the entrance, and Teroh turned 
to see what was causing it. A tall, thin man dressed in 
what appeared to be black paper was attempting to enter the 
hospital, and the angel had drawn her sword to block him. 
The man's face was featureless, hidden under a wide-brimmed 
hat.
    "To arms," the angel cried. "Hostile on the ward." She 
couldn't take flight amid such close quarters, but she 
spread her wings anyway to keep the man from darting past 
her. Teroh still did not understand the concern in her 
voice. The intruder looked about as substantial as a 
scarecrow, and he wasn't even armed.
    The angel struck first, something Teroh had never seen 
before. Usually they waited for their opponents to strike 
or threaten an innocent before they attacked. From his 
vantage point across the room, he could see the angel and 
the intruder in profile. She had driven her sword straight 
into his torso, where it met no resistance as it plunged 
through. The scarecrow didn't flinch.
    The angel turned her head and screamed across the room, 
"Run! In Serra's name, run now!" The staff of the hospital 
looked to Teroh, and he shrugged. Most of the wounded were 
dozing, and few of them were fit enough to get out of bed 
anyway.
    "Sister," Teroh raised his voice as he addressed the 
angel, "what are you-" He stopped when he saw a clinging 
gray smoke waft out of the scarecrow's chest wound. Teroh 
realized the intruder wasn't dressed in paper, his skin was 
made of paper-or something very much like it. His chest had 
not been cut by the angel's sword, it had been torn like 
parchment.
    The mist floated in midair between the two figures for 
a moment longer, and then it rushed at the angel. The smoke 
began to bubble and boil as it touched her face, her neck, 
her arms, and she screamed, something else Teroh had never 
known an angel to do.
    "Swords," he called as he drew his own, and two more 
angels and a handful of on-duty troopers responded.
    As her comrades approached, and the mist churned and 
boiled across her flesh, the first angel flailed wildly 
with her sword. It passed harmlessly through the mist, but 
whenever the blade touched the scarecrow, his papery skin 
split, and more gray mist wafted out to join the assault. 
The angel was in agony, but she refused to abandon her 
post.
    A second angel lunged forward with her sword. There was 
a swish and a rustle, and the intruder's head dropped 
backward, connected to his torso only by a few papery 
threads. His body still stood, however, and now the gray 
mist poured out of his neck to attack the second angel.
    "Stop cutting him," Teroh barked, but it was too late. 
Whatever filled the scarecrow's body was caustic and was 
quickly stripping the exposed skin off the two angels. 
Teroh grabbed a nearby Samite by the shoulder and said, 
"Bring bed sheets. Towels. Anything that we can wrap him in 
to staunch that smoke and get him out of here."
    The first angel dropped where she stood, her face 
stripped down to the bone, and the smoke was not 
dissipating. In fact, it seemed to be growing, larger and 
thicker as it consumed the rest of its first victim. Teroh 
stared in horror as he realized it wasn't smoke at all. It 
was insects. Millions of them, each no bigger than a 
pinpoint, stripping the flesh from the angels' bones by the 
mouthful. And with each mouthful, they were growing bigger.
    "Fire," Teroh yelled to a trembling trooper. "We need 
fire." The buzzing of the tiny swarm grew louder and more 
furious as the insects themselves grew larger and larger. 
The second angel fell, little more than a winged skeleton. 
The bugs on the first angel were now as big as wasps, and 
Teroh could see their savage mandibles working as they 
consumed their victims. The Samite he had ordered to fetch 
bed sheets came forward with them, but the healer's eyes 
were locked on the ever-increasing swarm that blocked the 
only exit.
    "You," Teroh pointed at a trio of soldiers, "and you 
and you. That thing has to be driven outside. Charge." 
"Charge, sir?"
    "It's going to kill us all! Gods damn it, I gave you an 
order! Now charge, troopers! Defend the Order!"
    Two of the three soldiers rushed at the deflating hive 
man and were promptly engulfed in gray mist and voracious 
insects. The third stood frozen while his partners died 
screaming. Teroh stormed over to the man and ran him 
through where he stood.
    "Coward," he snarled.
    The bugs were now as big as carrier pigeons, and they 
started to spread out across the hospital. New cries of 
pain issued out from bandaged faces and cloth partitions. 
The last angel on the ward leaped in and slashed one of the 
larger insects in two. Both halves reformed into smaller 
versions of the original and promptly attacked the angel's 
face.
    The air was thick with the sounds of agony and the 
terrible buzzing of the hive. The insects were so numerous 
and so large that it became impossible to see clearly. 
Teroh held his sword loosely in his hand, and scanned the 
crush of screaming people. There were no ranks in the room 
anymore, however, only panicked individuals fighting for 
their lives.
    I must escape, Teroh realized. I have to get word of 
this to Bre-tath. Though he was livid with rage at the 
thought of another retreat, Teroh knew his original 
thinking was correct. It was worth the loss of a hundred, 
or five hundred, or a thousand, if ten thousand more would 
march to replace them.
    Teroh turned his sword on the cloth wall of the tent 
beside him and dove through the rent. He got to his feet 
and looked back into the hospital, but there was nothing he 
could do for those who remained inside. He could only take 
their deaths to Bretath and use them to raise more troops 
for the crusat.
    Teroh turned and sprinted for the command tent across 
the compound. Without a torch, he didn't see the two spears 
jammed deep into the ground with a length of chain 
stretched neck-high between them. He felt it, however, as 
the chain and the spears held, cracking his larynx and 
slamming him flat on his back. Choking, dazed, and 
helpless, Teroh stared up at the starless sky. A calm, 
careful tread approached him. Whoever it was carried a 
light source on his chest, and Teroh watched a tall, 
slender man with braided hair and hollow eyes lean over 
him.
    "Hello, Major." Chainer's dagger was out, and he laid 
the tip of it on Teroh's jugular vein. "The Cabal is here, 
and everywhere. Your crusat ends now. Goodbye, Major."
    When he was done, Chainer wiped his dagger on the long 
grass and stayed on the eastern road until the commotion in 
the sanctuary, the command tent, and the barracks died 
down. Under his direction, the bugs focused their attack on 
the soldiers and stayed away from the ranch and stables. He 
knew the insects would continue to gorge until they had 
consumed everything in their immediate area, growing larger 
all the while. Then, they would turn on each other.
    Chainer practiced making snakes while he waited. He was 
getting quite good at it.
    When he activated the First's teleportation spell 
several hours later and returned to Cabal City, the only 
things left alive in Teroh's camp were an unconscious 
Samite healer and a stable of fine white chargers.
 
                      * * * * *
 
     The first thing Kamahl saw when he awoke was Chainer. 
In the cramped, candlelit room, the Cabalist crouched over 
him like a smirking vulture.
    "The Cabal is here," Chainer said, and Kamahl groaned.
    "How long have I been out?" Kamahl's body felt heavy, 
drugged, and leaden.
    "Just over a day. You should lie still. You've been 
wounded, and you aren't done healing yet."
    "Wounded?" Kamahl searched his fuzzy memories. "I was 
fighting at the gates. We were breaking them on the walls. 
I remember a glowing knight, and the smell of... burning 
air. Then everything went white and jagged and hot."
    "You were laid low by a justicar," Chainer said. "They 
generate righteous lighting, or some such nonsense. We 
don't know what they are, really, but that's twice now 
they've surprised us. You and I are going to have to do 
something about that."
    "I'm ready," Kamahl said angrily. He tried to rise, but 
only his head made it off the pillow.
    "Not yet you aren't. Lie still, or you'll never heal." 
Kamahl lifted his arms. They also felt heavy, and he could 
see thick scars running up both forearms. Or were they 
calluses? There was a sickly odor in the room that was 
making it even harder for him to concentrate.
    "I've come to show you something," Chainer said. "We've 
been waiting for hours. You're not one of those people who 
jumps out of bed ready for the brand new day, are you?'"
    "My arms feel wrong," Kamahl said. "My chest is too 
heavy. Did I breathe in some of that righteous whatever? I 
feel like I'm gasping."
    "You were in pretty bad shape. I couldn't let those 
Order fools take you, and I didn't trust our own leeches to 
patch you up right." Kamahl blinked. "So who healed me?"
    "I did," Chainer said proudly. "I arranged to have the 
Mirari brought in, so I could use it to fix you. Worked 
like a charm, too." "The Mirari? Where is it?"
    "Safely back in its vault," the First said. He had been 
hidden behind Chainer, but now he came forward to Kamahl's 
cot. "It was beautiful to watch, however. Chainer remains 
one of the few people who can touch the Mirari and use it 
without destroying everything around him."
    The barbarian turned his head and tried to breathe as 
shallow as he could. The Cabal Patriarch was the source of 
the sickening odor. Or was he? Kamahl realized his face had 
been burned, too, and it felt tough and callused like his 
arms. When the First retreated back behind Chainer, Kamahl 
could still smell something tainted. Unclean. With a 
growing sense of dread, he realized the smell was coming 
from him.
    "Am I zombified, or just gangrenous?" he asked 
seriously. Chainer laughed.
    "Neither. That's a side effect of my treatment. It 
should be temporary."
    Kamahl's head was clearing fast. "Your treatment? Since 
when are you a healer?"
    "Since never. But I am a maker. I make things, living 
things. And with the Mirari's help, I was able to make you 
whole again. Instead of an entire creature, I only created 
the parts I needed. The leech helped me graft them in 
place, but I think you'll agree it's a seamless job."
    Kamahl lifted his heavy arms again. He felt more 
calluses on his chest, feet, and deep under the short ribs 
on his left side. "More light," he said, and Chainer 
obligingly brought the candle closer.
    Kamahl's hands were covered in stiff copper snakeskin 
that had grown into and merged with his normal flesh. The 
new skin was nearly smooth, and the pattern was delicate, 
but Kamahl could feel the toughness of the individual 
scales. The edges of each scale were sharp. Kamahl ran his 
finger underneath one, and the finger came back bleeding. 
He stared at his own blood for a moment, then looked up 
helplessly at Chainer.
    "You turned me into a snake?"
    "No," Chainer chided, "of course not. I patched a few 
holes and touched up a few surfaces. It'll breathe and grow 
just like normal skin. But it's even sturdier than the 
stuff you lost. Anything less than a full-on sword thrust 
just bounces off." He smiled. "What do you think?"
    "Get it off me." Kamahl spoke calmly but forcefully. 
"Now."
    Chainer looked crushed. "But... I can't. It's a 
permanent graft."
    "I didn't ask for it. I don't want it."
    "You're tired," the First stepped forward again. "You 
need some time to adjust. It's a major change, after all, 
and-"
    "Get the Mirari in here," Kamahl said, "and undo what 
you did."
    The First's voice grew cold as the grave. "I'm afraid 
that suggestion is not a possibility. It's also remarkably 
ungrateful."
    Kamahl shut his eyes. "Neither of you understand," he 
said. He lashed out and took Chainer by the shirt front, 
holding his new skin in front of Chainer's face with his 
free hand. "We barbarians don't do this kind of thing. Chop 
off my arm, and I must learn to fight one-handed. Put out 
my eyes, and I must learn to fight blind. This-" he 
released Chainer and shook his scaly fists at his friend- 
"is an abomination. It goes against everything I've ever 
believed." He lowered his arms. "I'm sorry, Chainer, but 
you've made a mistake. Thank you for your gift. I will not 
accept it."
    "We should let Kamahl get some rest," the First said. 
"Sleep, barbarian. Everything will look different in the 
morning." He glided out of the room without another word or 
a second glance.
    "You're really angry," Chainer said.
    "Not angry, Chainer. Serious."
    Chainer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Kamahl. I truly am. 
The First is right." Chainer followed his patriarch's path, 
but he backed out, so he could keep an eye on Kamahl. "You 
should get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning, and 
I'll see about . . . I'll see what I can do."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Kamahl remained silent for the next several hours as 
his anger and frustration grew. He couldn't stand the feel 
of Chainer's gift. The snakeskin itched and chafed his 
natural skin raw wherever the two touched. He could already 
feel how it threw off his timing and muted the messages the 
rest of his body continually sent to his brain. Worst of 
all, it marked him as a coward and a weakling who couldn't 
even overcome his own injuries without spare parts from the 
Cabal's nightmare pantry.
    He couldn't stand it-would not stand it. Kamahl let his 
mind drift, back in time to his training at Balthor's feet, 
back in space to his home on the Pardic Mountains. Pardic 
was not the tallest range on the continent, but it was one 
of the deepest. Tribal legend said that the Pardics ran 
right to the center of the planet, where the temperature 
was so hot that the elements and mana alike were combined 
into one glowing, red-hot ball of fire and molten rock. 
Kamahl struggled to control the energy he was gathering. 
This would be an extremely difficult spell under ideal 
conditions. As it was, Kamahl would need every ounce of 
concentration he could muster to keep from immolating 
himself completely.
    He stared at his hands and focused his thoughts on the 
sensation of the alien skin. The same sensation echoed in 
his side, on his legs, on his face, all the places Chainer 
had treated. He isolated those sensations, in effect 
isolating those parts of his body and those layers of skin 
that were no longer his own.
    In Kamahl's native language, there was a word for the 
act of sterilizing and sealing a wound with fire. The word 
was "cachede," and Kamahl pronounced it now.
    The huge barbarian growled and gritted his teeth as the 
snake-skin grafts all burst into flame simultaneously. He 
could not clearly recall the pain of the original injury, 
but he was certain that this was far worse. The horrid 
stench of burning flesh filled the room, and noxious smoke 
stung his eyes. Kamahl clenched his fists as they burned, 
holding them aloft so as not to ignite the bedclothes. When 
the last of the scales was burned away, the fires on 
Kamahl's body sputtered and died. He sat in complete agony 
for a moment. Then he shoved himself out of the bed and 
clumsily began bathing his fresh wounds with water from the 
bedside basin. I will live, he promised himself. I will 
heal. I will fight again under my own power, on my own 
terms.
    And I will leave this place with the Mirari in my fist, 
or I will not leave it at all.
 
                       CHAPTER 22
 
    Chainer moved into his lavish new quarters in the 
First's manor and threw himself into his new duties. The 
Order's crusat blossomed into a full-blown war in the wake 
of Chainer's visit to the camp, and the First charged 
Chainer with bringing the hostilities to a speedy 
conclusion. While the First dealt with angry communiques 
from the Order's highest ranking officers, Chainer would 
respond to the marked increase in crusat raids around the 
region. The raiders were not yet numerous enough to mount 
another attack on Cabal City. Instead, small bands of 
troopers and officers were terrorizing the lesser Cabal 
strongholds in northern Otaria, especially those with pit 
facilities. So Chainer had very little time to dwell on 
Kamahl's betrayal. Mere days after mutilating himself, the 
barbarian packed up his kit and left the leech's chambers 
on legs that could barely support him. Chainer realized how 
completely Kamahl had turned his back on Cabal hospitality. 
He wondered what kind of madness led a man to spit on his 
hosts and make enemies of his closest friends. The last 
thing Chainer heard about his former partner was that he 
was renting a room in a public house near the docks, where 
the rents were low and interaction between landlord and 
tenant was minimal.
    None of that mattered in the larger scheme of things, 
of course. Kamahl insisted on being treated like any 
another contestant in the pits, and the Cabal would happily 
accommodate him. When he came for the Mirari he would fall 
to Chainer just like every other nameless challenger.
    Chainer's new quarters were large and sumptuous, but he 
had no furniture apart from a chair and a sleeping cot 
scavenged from his room at Skellum's academy. He brought 
the cot because it reminded him of his mentor, not because 
he needed it. Sleep came to him in short, sudden bursts, 
and sometimes it never came at all.
    Just as well, he mused. He had very little time to 
sleep, anyway. The First had sent scrolls and tomes for him 
to review, and the Master of the Games regularly added 
stacks of dates and pairings for upcoming games. Chainer 
himself had requested some additional reading material on 
his own, but all of the scrolls and heavy books and loose 
sheets of paper lay in a confused pile in the corner of the 
smallest room. Chainer had read them all and retained quite 
a bit of it, but he preferred to spend his time preparing 
for battle. He made snakes or weighted chains and 
aggressively hurled them at imaginary enemies as he 
sprinted and rolled from room to empty room.
    They were all coming for the Mirari, he knew, all of 
them. The First had been so delighted with Chainer's use of 
the sphere on Kamahl that he had made Chainer its official 
keeper. It stayed hidden in a warded vault that would only 
open if Chainer and the First spoke the right charm at the 
exact same moment while standing side-by-side outside the 
door, but no one was ever permitted to touch the Mirari but 
Chainer, not even the First himself. Even better, when the 
Mirari games were staged, Chainer would represent the 
Cabal, and if he won the tournament, he would win the right 
to bear the Mirari permanently, as he now bore his dagger 
and censer. A victory for the Cabal meant a victory for 
Chainer, and vice-versa.
    Chainer impulsively created two huge saber-toothed 
anacondas and set them on one another. He wanted to see 
what happened when they tried to squeeze each other to 
death. While the snakes wrapped around each other like a 
braided garrote, Chainer let his mind wander back to the 
sensation of holding the Mirari in his hands, of having 
unimaginable power literally at his fingertips.
    Chainer had stood over Kamahl's sleeping body with the 
Mirari clenched between his palms. In his mind, he saw a 
bipedal snake man with copper scales standing alongside 
Kamahl. The two images slid together until they were two 
overlapping phantoms occupying the exact same space. The 
snake man's body faded away except for those areas that 
corresponded to Kamahl's wounds. Chainer felt the first 
giant wave from an endless ocean of power flow out of the 
Mirari and into his head. Something shifted deep in his 
brain, and when he opened his eyes the First was beaming, 
and Kamahl had live, healthy flesh ready for the leech's 
grafting spells.
    Tapping into the Mirari was different than being in 
dementia space, different even from communing with Kuberr. 
The Mirari was its own power, and it didn't mingle or share 
with the person who held it. The sphere was more like an 
infinite battery in search of a will through which it could 
focus and release its energy.
    The Mirari could change the world, Chainer knew, but it 
couldn't decide how on its own. Making the decision and 
unleashing the power had proved fatal to everyone but him, 
and Chainer took enormous pride in that. Not only was he 
the only being alive who had used it, he alone was the only 
one who could. It was his to employ, his to use on behalf 
of the Cabal. It had told him so the first time he saw it, 
and everything it had shown him had come true. As soon as 
he had annihilated the Order and won the Mirari for himself 
in the games, his destiny would be complete.
    A soft knock and a call of "Master?" interrupted his 
training.
    Master Chainer had earned the rank by successfully 
completing the shikar, and the First had formally conferred 
it upon him in the wake of the redoubled crusat. He 
dismissed the two anacondas, touched the polished marble 
wall to ground himself, and replied.
    "The Cabal is here." He was learning to control the 
physical changes his powers caused. If he concentrated, he 
could cancel the musical reverberation of his voice. He was 
less successful at controlling the appearance of his eyes.
    A young blonde girl came hesitantly in. She held an 
onyx scroll case. "The First and Ambassador Laquatus await 
your presence," she said. She never looked up at Chainer. 
He guessed his eyes were currently hollow. Had he been that 
timid at her age? That frightened? "Thank you, little 
sister," he said. She smiled to acknowledge his kindness, 
but she still seemed cowed, terrified. Perhaps she had only 
smiled to avoid antagonizing him. Chainer felt the urge to 
send a rattlesnake slithering across her sandaled feet, a 
glowing-eyed venom-spitting nightmare that would strike but 
never bite, that would follow her everywhere and burrow 
under her pillow while she slept, rattling all the while.
    He put the temptation aside. He had business with the 
First, and besides, he was sure the messenger would crack 
in less than two days. Hardly worth the effort of creating 
the snake in the first place. "If you are ready, Master, I 
will take you to them." "I'm ready, little sister. Lead 
on." Chainer saw the shadow of a thick, scaled body moving 
across the messenger's foot, but she didn't react to its 
touch. He blinked hard, and the rattler was gone. "Are you 
all right, big brother?"
    "I said lead on," Chainer snapped. He was suddenly 
irritable. Was it lack of sleep? He vowed that he would get 
some rest, as soon as he and the Mirari introduced Laquatus 
to his new familiar.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer was taken to a small, comfortable room outside 
the vault that contained the Mirari. He was greeted warmly 
by the First and Laquatus, but the ambassador visibly fumed 
when he was ordered to stay behind while the Cabalists 
fetched the sphere. When Chainer reentered the room bearing 
the Mirari, Laquatus stared at it hungrily. "Ambassador," 
Chainer said. "On behalf of the First and the Cabal, let me 
apologize for the delay. Now, as agreed, I present you with 
Turg's replacement." Chainer used the Mirari as he had with 
Kamahl, held tight between his hands with his eyes closed. 
He had put a great deal of thought into the casting 
beforehand, with constant input and refinement from the 
First. Every detail had been meticulously planned. 
Unleashing the actual creature was almost an afterthought. 
Chainer saw the creature clearly in his mind. It was a 
medium-tall humanoid male with five fingers, no toes, and 
the well defined musculature of a competitive swimmer. Its 
body was hairless and featureless, an unbroken surface with 
no openings for eyes, nose, ears, or mouth. It was bruise-
black in color, a dark and murky purple that was effective 
camouflage both in the shadows of the city and the sunless 
depths of the ocean. With an extremely bright light 
directly behind it, however, one could see that it was 
partially translucent with no recognizable bones or 
internal organs of any kind. In his mind's eye, Chainer saw 
a collar streak out and find the featureless man's neck. He 
noted with satisfaction that the figure did not struggle, 
or claw, or react in any way to the collar. It seemed as 
comfortable with it as it did without it.
    Chainer gave the leash a gentle mental tug. The 
creature took a single step forward and disappeared. 
Chainer opened his eyes, and the purple figure stood in the 
center of the room, steaming like a lobster fresh from the 
pot.
    "Ambassador Laquatus." Chainer presented the 
featureless man with a grand wave of his golem hand. "Meet 
your new familiar. I call him Burke." Laquatus inspected 
the new arrival and was clearly unimpressed.
    "Quickly. Call him by name," Chainer said. Laquatus put 
his hands on his hips, obviously skeptical of the entire 
affair.
    "Now. He needs to imprint on you as his master, or 
we'll have to start all over."
    "Burke." Laquatus shot the First a long-suffering look 
as he spat the name out. "Attend your master."
    Burke responded to the sound of his name by facing 
Laquatus then dropping to one knee with his head bowed and 
his fists on the floor.
    "At least he knows his place," Laquatus said. "But what 
else can he do?"
    Chainer had expected this reaction from Laquatus, and 
he smiled patiently. "Well," he said, "you specified 
obedient, powerful, and amphibious. Burke is all those 
things. You can see how quickly he responds to your voice. 
And he doesn't need to breathe, so both land and sea are 
accessible to him."
    "But what does he do?" Laquatus keened. "Obedient and 
amphibious do me no good if there's no power to back them 
up. He has to be my new jack, my champion in the pits. How 
does he fight?"
    Chainer smiled again. "Perhaps a demonstration is in 
order." He scanned the room. "If you'll follow me to a room 
with a bit more space, ambassador, I'm sure Burke will 
satisfy your concerns."
    "If I may," the First interrupted, "I will take my 
leave of you now. Chainer, let us return the Mirari to the 
vault, so you and Laquatus can test his new jack." Laquatus 
sulked some more as Chainer and the First left him to 
become acquainted with Burke while they put their treasure 
away.
    "Has it worked, Master Chainer? Have you created 
exactly what we discussed?"
    "Exactly, Pater."
    "Outstanding. Convince the ambassador to accept his 
gift and send them both on their way. Come to my chambers 
when you are done. I would discuss your strategy for 
defending the lesser pits between now and the games."
    "I will be along directly, Pater." They replaced the 
Mirari, sealed the vault, and the First went away, trailing 
his attendants behind him. When Chainer returned to the 
conference room, Laquatus was peering into Burke's blank 
face.
    "Can I touch him? Is he at least caustic?" "Follow me, 
please. And no, Ambassador, I'm afraid not. Burke's entire 
body is composed of nothing more than a dense, inert gel." 
He led Laquatus down the hall toward one of the private 
pits, smaller versions of the main arena for private 
matches and demonstrations. "Inert? Do you mean it does 
nothing?"
    "I mean it interacts with nothing. A drop of his body 
material on your skin or in your bloodstream wouldn't harm 
you any more than a drop of oil. The gel is extremely 
durable, however. The sharpest sword or dagger might pierce 
his hide, but the blade will snap before it goes any 
deeper.
    "I think you're missing the advantages of his body, 
Ambassador. He has no bones to break, no organs to rupture. 
He doesn't breathe, so he cannot be strangled. He has no 
eyes, so he cannot be blinded. No pores means no way for 
his skin to absorb irritants. No circulatory system means 
no way for diseases or poisons to spread inside his body. 
Virtually every attack he faces in the pits is going to 
fail, simply because his doesn't function like a normal 
living body. Burke's body is just a vessel for his mind, 
and his mind is a vessel for your commands." "Doesn't 
function normally," Laquatus echoed. "It doesn't seem to 
function at all! All you've given me is a defensive 
creature, a bodyguard. And I will repeat myself. I need a 
jack, a fighting champion." They came upon the closed door 
that led to a private pit, and Burke sprang forward to hold 
the door for them as they passed. "Thank you," Chainer 
said, and Laquatus grumbled.
    "I sincerely hope, Master Chainer, that you don't 
expect me to be polite to this servant every time he 
attends me."
    "No, Ambassador. The Cabal teaches us to be polite to 
all our guests, including their servants. And Burke is now 
very much yours."
    "A greater treasure I have yet to receive," Laquatus 
said nastily. "And you haven't answered my question. How 
does he fight? And more to the point, how does he win?"
    "Now that we're here," Chainer said, "I can answer your 
question. And believe me, you're going to love this."
    "We shall see."
    "Order him into the center of the room, please." As 
Laquatus repeated the order and Burke moved, Chainer 
continued. "He will only respond to you from now on. After 
a few weeks, you won't even need to talk. It'll be as if he 
hears your thoughts." Chainer watched Laquatus carefully, 
but the merman kept his expression neutral. "Won't that be 
an interesting sensation? To speak without moving your 
lips?"
    "Imperial jesters have been doing that trick for a 
thousand years," Laquatus said. Chainer thought he saw the 
barest flicker of recognition, however.
    "Of course. My apologies. I'm sure that the Mer learned 
to speak silently generations ago. Makes it easier to issue 
commands at the bottom of the sea."
    Laquatus was staring sharply at Chainer, as if he had 
just realized there was a deeper meaning to Chainer's 
casual banter. "You mentioned a demonstration, Master. I am 
waiting."
    "By all means. For the purposes of the demonstration, 
I'm going to put Burke up against a mixed group of sea 
creatures and land crawlers."
    "An excellent idea. But that is an offensive term to 
some mer-folk tribes."
    "I meant no offense," Chainer said. "There are so many 
types of sea creatures in the sea that I sometimes have 
trouble keeping all their customs straight. It would be 
better for everyone if Mer could unite behind a single 
leader, don't you think?"
    Laquatus looked intrigued, but his voice was 
suspicious. "I would welcome the chance to discuss the 
current situation in Mer with you. Later on. But right now 
. . . my demonstration?"
    Chainer nodded, and with a wave cast four hostile 
monsters across the room at Burke. A twenty-foot sea 
serpent thrashed wildly, forcing a long-horned tiger to 
spring aside and stalk Burke from his left. A four-foot bat 
with eight spider's legs flapped and chittered madly around 
the ceiling, and a huge bipedal killer whale slowly moved 
closer to the gel man. Burke stood impassive with his feet 
planted firmly on the floor as the creatures all oriented 
on him and began their attack.
    "Order him to kill them all," Chainer said. Laquatus 
shrugged.
    "Burke," he intoned. "This is your master. Destroy your 
attackers."
    The tiger pounced first, seven hundred pounds of 
snarling fangs, gleaming horns, and sharp claws. Burke 
stood frozen as the big cat descended on him, and then, in 
a motion so fast that not even Chainer could follow it, he 
ducked under the tiger's extended paws and sunk his arm up 
to the shoulder in the brute's belly. Burke wrapped his 
other arm around the top of the tiger's torso and slammed 
it head-first into the stone floor with a brutal 
combination of power and balance. The tiger's skull 
cracked, and it faded from the room.
    Burke then turned his eyeless face up to the ceiling 
and extended his arm out toward the spider bat. The gel in 
his arm softened and stretched as he reached, doubling then 
tripling the length of the appendage until the bat was 
trapped in the upper comer of the room. Burke's hand dipped 
and weaved as the bat tried to avoid it, but he quickly 
caught the rabid creature by the throat. His arm snapped 
back to its normal size and shape in a heartbeat, leaving 
the bat to fall dead to the floor. Its head remained 
clenched in Burke's hand until both parts of the bat's body 
disappeared.
    The whale creature was better suited to fighting on dry 
land than the serpent, and it reached Burke first. It 
grabbed the ambassador's jack like a doll in both hands and 
rammed him deep into its mouth. The creature ground its 
huge jaws together once, twice, and then threw its head 
back like a shark to swallow the chunks of its meal without 
further chewing. It turned to
    Chainer and Laquatus, spread its arms, and bellowed 
defiantly.
    "Well, that was entertaining," Laquatus said. "Perhaps 
we should just forget this ever happened and you can-"
    "Three, two, one," Chainer said. "Go."
    A bruise-black fist erupted out of the monster's 
sternum. The whale-thing roared and tried to tear Burke's 
arm off, but the gel man held on, and the creature only 
succeeded in ripping Burke completely out of its gullet. 
Burke's expressionless face showed no reaction to the layer 
of blood and bile that coated him. The mortally wounded 
whale-monstrosity fell onto its back and soon vanished.
    "One more to go," Chainer said.
    The sea serpent had at last found some traction and was 
undulating at Burke with its jaws wide. Burke regarded 
those jaws, and then he leaped forward. His spread-eagled 
body met the oncoming serpent's head, and Burke splashed 
across the serpent's face like an overripe piece of fruit. 
To Laquatus's visible amazement, the shapeless splotch of 
gel adjusted itself and willfully expanded across the 
serpent's mouth and nose until both airways were blocked. 
The serpent shook its head violently in an attempt to 
dislodge its tormentor, but the gel clung tight and would 
not be thrown off. The serpent's struggles grew slower, 
then feeble, then stopped altogether. Only when it 
disappeared out from under him did Burke reform himself 
into his humanoid shape.
    "He's even better underwater," Chainer said happily. 
"He can smother gills as easily as lungs. The principle's 
exactly the same, keep air from entering the body."
    Burke stood tall and silent, awaiting his next command. 
Laquatus woodenly began to clap, slow, measured applause 
that gave him time to think.
    "Absolutely marvelous," Laquatus said. "Forgive me, 
Master. I did not fully appreciate the value of your gift."
    Chainer smiled graciously. "Not at all Ambassador. 
There are many tasks a man in your position needs a 
reliable jack to perform. The Cabal is always willing to 
assist you."
    Laquatus was still staring at Burke, his mind furiously 
churning.
    "I'm sure," Chainer went on, "that you'll find 
something useful for Burke to do almost immediately."
    That caught Laquatus's attention. "There are many ways 
I could employ such a champion. Some are more urgent than 
others."
    "I also have urgent matters to attend to. Matters far 
less enjoyable than meeting with you, Ambassador. I wonder 
if we were to discuss these matters together, would we find 
a way to help each other, as we have done today?"
    "I would be most interested in finding out the answer 
to that question, Master Chainer. I would welcome the 
Cabal's help and the chance to help the Cabal in return."
    "Perhaps we should meet again before you head back 
below the sea. Tonight, for example. Over dinner?"
    "I would be honored. Come to my embassy this evening, 
and we'll discuss the future."
    "I am looking forward to it. Ambassador?"
    "Yes?"
    "I've heard wondrous tales of the great libraries of 
Mer. Is it true that they go back thousands of years?"
    "Absolutely true."
    "And if you had access to certain other ... special 
documents ... a man of your talents could uncover a secret 
that has been hidden for generations?"
    "It would be my pleasure to try. More, it would be my 
duty. You have done me a great service here today, Master 
Chainer."
    Chainer offered the ambassador his hand, and after a 
conspiratorial smile, he took it.
    "The Empire and the Cabal," Chainer said. "May their 
interests always coincide."
 
                       PART FOUR:
                        MASTER
 
                       CHAPTER 23
 
    "Master Chainer?"
    Chainer started and looked for the speaker. He was in 
his private chambers with his hands in casting position, 
facing the corner of the room. Deidre stood in his doorway, 
all eyes and sharp edges. She appeared more nervous and 
timid than Chainer had ever seen her before. She seemed 
shorter and slighter, but she still had the eyes, the hair, 
the teeth and the nails.  .
    "I thought you were dead," he said. He lowered his arms 
and bowed.
    "Oh. Uh, the First requires your presence, Master." 
Deidre's face began to soften and melt, running like candle 
wax.
    "Don't go," Chainer said urgently. His vision fogged, 
and in Deidre's place stood Fulla. She was smiling 
savagely. Slowly, she snapped her fingers in front of 
Chainer's face.
    Chainer shook his head to clear it. Fulla had vanished. 
Skellum stood before him, his hat tucked under his arm, his 
eyes shining and confident.
    Chainer's stomach froze when he saw Skellum. The fresh 
pain of his mentor's death told Chainer that the apparition 
before him was a lie. Rage churned up the pain and soon 
overwhelmed Chainer's grief.
    "Remember me," Skellum said.
    Chainer angrily waved the phantom away. He closed his 
eyes tight, then opened them again. The only other person 
in the room was the frightened little blond messenger. 
Hadn't she been bit by a rattler? Chainer reached for the 
wall, but his depth perception failed him, and he almost 
fell to the floor.
    "Big brother?"
    Chainer found himself propped up between the wall and 
the messenger's birdlike hands.
    "Haven't slept. What day is it?" he said. He stood and 
dusted off an imaginary cape. The First wanted to see him 
about the ambassador's new jack. Or had he already seen the 
First about the ambassador's new jack? It was something 
about the ambassador's jack, but a new something.
    The messenger was staring at him with an absolutely 
hilarious mixture of pity and fear. Chainer laughed and 
stood up off the wall.
    "Always make that face," Chainer said. "It suits you."
    "Yes, big brother." She gave him a gentle shove and 
guided him out the door.
    He remembered now. The First wanted to ask him exactly 
how much control they would have over Burke now that he had 
bonded to the ambassador. It was a simple matter and 
wouldn't take more than an hour. He would lie down on his 
cot when he returned, force himself to rest. Not that he 
was tired, of course. He just wanted to stop thinking for a 
while. His thoughts were starting to intrude on his fun, 
just as the crusat intruded on his time in the pits.
    He watched the back of the messenger's head as they 
walked, and he felt more and more clear with each echoing 
step they took.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    "The ambassador has expressed his satisfaction with 
your efforts, Master Chainer. Another job well done."
    "Thank you, Pater."
    "I understand that the demonstration was quite 
impressive."
    "It was glorious, Pater. Burke performed even better 
than we'd hoped."
    "And he is still under your influence?"
    "Yes. He is bonded to Laquatus and will obey the 
ambassador's every command. But his essence is Cabal. Cabal 
magic, Cabal methods. He is Laquatus's slave, but he is the 
Cabal's asset."
    "And if you wanted to, you could make another?"
    This caught Chainer off-guard. "I suppose I could, 
Pater. Yes. If I had the Mirari to power the casting, a 
second Burke would be as powerful and as real as the 
original."
    "Outstanding. Let us retrieve the Mirari from the 
vault. I would like you to create a duplicate of the 
ambassador's familiar for me."
    Chainer felt an idea forming, and the first tingles of 
anticipation before a major challenge. "Such an attendant 
would be more durable than your human ones."
    "Precisely. And in these troubled times, I need to move 
about quickly. My retinue of guards and attendants is too 
large and unwieldy. If I could replace half of them, even a 
third, with a single body, it would be a great boon to my 
work."
    "It would be my pleasure, Pater."
    "Of course, you would be rewarded for this service. Is 
there anything you desire? If it is within my power, it 
shall be yours."
    "I can think of nothing right now, Pater." "Well, keep 
thinking. But now, let us go to the vault." As they 
returned, the First peppered Chainer with questions about 
Burke's capabilities, and Chainer dutifully reported the 
answers. The First was more excited than Chainer had ever 
seen him, gesturing emphatically and waving his arms wide. 
His attendants were hard-pressed to stay close by without 
being accidentally brushed. Chainer carried the Mirari 
reverently between both hands.
    Back in the First's chamber, Chainer called for space, 
and the First had his guards and attendants all huddle 
against the far comer of the room. The First waited eagerly 
opposite his servants, and Chainer stood between them. He 
held the edge of his left hand against his stomach with the 
Mirari floating above his palm. He held his metal hand 
palm-down over the Mirari, and closed his eyes. He held 
this position and concentrated for a long time, until some 
of the braver guards began to grumble and jostle the people 
around them. The time was now, he told himself. This was 
what he had been preparing for. It was time to truly 
impress the First.
    "Pater."
    "Yes, my child?"
    "There are two things preventing me from doing what you 
have asked."
    The First frowned. "What are these things? Can they be 
removed?"
    Chainer's eyes snapped open, the void in his sockets 
endless and impenetrable. "I thought you'd never ask. The 
first impediment is that it's far too crowded in here." He 
unfolded his left arm and left the Mirari hanging below his 
right. A yellow glow shot out of the sphere, up Chainer's 
arm, and traveled across his body to his outstretched left 
hand. A massive bolt of black light exploded out of 
Chainer's hand and slammed into the throng of guards and 
attendants in the corner. The room shook as the death bolt 
impacted, and some of the servants screamed before the 
entire group fell dead where they stood.
    "Chainer! What are you doing?"
    "The second impediment," Chainer said evenly, "is that 
you sent Skellum into the pits to die."
    "Mazeura," the First was regaining his composure, 
"attend me." Chainer felt the dominating power of his 
secret name take hold, and his muscles froze where they 
were.
    "I am the Cabal First," he snarled, "and I do not 
explain my actions. Look at what we have gained, what you 
have gained, from the death of a single man. Skellum's time 
had passed, and he knew it. I think you know it, too. These 
are dangerous times, my child, and not everyone is going to 
survive. You are the future of dementia, you are the future 
of Cabal. That future needs to be fast, focused, versatile, 
brutal. We need you more than we needed Skellum."
    "Do not say 'we,' Pater. You do not speak for me in 
this."
    "I speak for the Cabal in all things. And you are 
Cabal. The oath you took is not some clubhouse initiation 
ritual, it is a powerful magical bond. You don't just quit 
the Cabal because your best friend is gone. You are mine, 
body and soul, for as long as I want you."
    "I've been thinking about my oath lately. In Mer they 
say an oath is nothing more than a contract, and all 
contracts have loopholes."
    The First crossed his arms behind his back. "There are 
no loopholes in your sacred oath, Mazeura."
    "My name is Chainer," he said. "And of course there 
are. You only have power over me because I gave it to you 
when I accepted my secret name."
    "You accepted much more than that."
    "True. But if I could discover your secret name, Pater, 
wouldn't the roles be reversed? Wouldn't you be as docile 
before me as I am before you now?"
    "No one has known my secret name for a hundred years." 
Chainer heard the initial strains of uncertainty in the 
First's voice, and he breathed it in like delicious 
incense.
    "I'm sorry, but that's no longer true . . . Calchexas." 
Chainer jutted both palms forward, leaving the Mirari to 
float freely at his chest. An even larger bolt of energy 
burst from Chainer's hands and totally engulfed the First. 
His panicked white eyes were the last thing Chainer saw 
before the First vanished behind a cloud of black light.
    Chainer continued to pour energy into the spell, 
keeping the First's body surrounded by the roiling field. 
The First had lived a very long time, he reasoned, and 
would take a lot of effort to kill. He hadn't dropped yet, 
and Chainer had never seen anyone withstand the death bloom 
for so long. In fact, the First was still standing upright 
as Chainer continued to hurl killing magic at him.
    "Die," Chainer whispered. With the Mirari he could keep 
this up for a week. He increased his efforts, and the First 
was physically driven back into the stone wall. He still 
stood, however, straight and tall, against an attack that 
would have overwhelmed an army.
    After a full minute of pressing the First against the 
wall, Chainer broke off. The First's body had been crushed 
into the stone behind him, and his fine robes were in 
tatters. He was panting and shaking, but he was very much 
alive."
    "You cannot kill me Mazeura. There is no way you can 
kill me."
    Chainer blasted him again, a brief slap. "Chainer. My 
name is Chainer."
    "You can never kill me, Chainer. I am not merely called 
the First, I am the first. The first to worship Kuberr. The 
first to receive his gifts. The first Cabalist. I have 
lived for centuries. I have fed on bloodlust, greed, and 
brutality since Otaria was wild and the Mer empire was just 
another school of intelligent fish. I have been Kuberr's 
servant since the very beginning, and nothing you do, not 
even with the Mirari, can prevent me from serving him."
    Chainer ran his tongue over his teeth, perturbed. He 
expected the First to tell outrageous lies and convenient 
half-truths to save his own life, but here the old viper 
actually seemed to be telling the truth. At least, he was 
telling the truth about the death bloom, because it was 
having almost no effect on him at all.
    "So you're immortal?"
    "In a sense."
    "Then I really can't kill you."
    "No. You can't."
    Chainer sent a sharpened weight flying toward the 
First's face. It buried itself in the patriarch's forehead, 
and Chainer watched the
    First's corruption crawl back along the links toward 
Chainer's hand. Chainer dropped his end before the toxic 
patina could reach him, and the First actually fell to his 
knees, clutching feebly at his wound.
    "I can try, however." Chainer returned his hands and 
the Mirari to their position in front of his stomach. The 
First slumped to one side, groaned, and then got back to 
his feet.
    "We need to settle our account, Chainer. This city ... 
the Cabal itself may not survive an all-out conflict 
between us. I suggest we come to an understanding." With as 
much poise as he could manage, the First pulled the 
sharpened weight out of his head and let it clatter to the 
floor.
    "Very well. You ordered Skellum's death. In return I 
demand yours."
    "Your price is too high and can never be paid. I have a 
counter offer."
    "Name it."
    "Cabal City is yours," he said, "if you give me safe 
passage. The manor, the arena, the pits, even the Mirari."
    "And where will you go? Do you really expect me to 
believe that you'll just disappear?"
    "I will go south. Our . . . my stronghold in Aphetto 
City. The Parliament of Knives is weak and ineffectual. I 
have been ignoring them of late, and they could use a firm, 
guiding hand."
    "And in five years you will come back at the head of an 
army of mages to retake Cabal City by force."
    The First laughed. "That would be wasteful and 
unnecessary. In fifty years . . . less, given your 
recklessness . . . you will be gone, and I shall return 
unopposed. The Cabal is here, and everywhere. I will take 
it with me, and it will be here when I come back for it."
    "You think so."
    "I know so."
    Chainer grunted. "I accept your terms. Here are mine." 
Chainer raised his arms over his head. The Mirari stayed 
between his hands.
    "You will use the city-wide grapevine to announce that 
you are leaving the City under my control. The Cabal still 
runs things, but now I will run the Cabal."
    "No one will follow you, Chainer."
    "Everyone will follow me. I am the Cabal's response to 
the Order crusat, as you always intended. The entire city 
knows and fears me. And I intend to keep everything running 
smoothly. The anniversary games will happen as planned. 
People will come from all over Otaria to claim the prize. 
And I will destroy them all in one fell swoop."
    "I agree to your terms," the First seemed sullen, 
angry, and Chainer wondered how long it had been since he 
had been at a disadvantage during negotiations.
    "I'm not finished yet. My personal representatives will 
be sent ahead to Aphetto to prepare it for you. To clear 
the road before you and to keep an eye on you once you 
arrive."
    "Spies, dementist? That hardly seems like a warrior's 
style."
    "Not spies. Cabalists. They do not report to me, but 
they are loyal to Kuberr. You may lead them, if you can. 
But they will be harder to dominate than the Cabalists 
you're used to."
    "What do you mean, 'will be?' " The First sounded as if 
he already knew and dreaded the answer.
    "I mean they will be. Observe." Chainer put his hands 
out in the casting position with the Mirari between them. 
His eyes went black, and he shuddered. From between his 
hands, a long tendril of smoke curled outward, growing 
thicker at the front end. There was an implosion and a 
flash, and Chainer's new Cabalist stood ready before him.
    The creature was a huge, ten-foot serpent as long and 
heavy as an alligator. It sat on a coil of its own body, 
propped up by two small hornlike claws where the coil rose 
off the floor. It had thin, flexible arms that collapsed 
against its body for quick strikes or rapid motion. Its 
head was big enough to swallow a cannonball without 
dislocating its jaw. It appeared to be a rattlesnake man, 
complete with a warning shaker on its tail and venom 
dripping from its fangs.
    "I've been thinking about snakes recently," Chainer 
said, "and I've decided I like them better than.people. A 
snake only strikes to hunt or defend itself. It specializes 
in graceful motion and deadly accuracy. Nature designed 
them to be elegant killers. I, in turn, have designed them 
to be perfect Cabalists."
    There was another shudder and another flash, and a 
second snake-person appeared. This one was longer and 
broader, rippling with muscle. It had no rattle, and its 
fangs were dry.
    "The constrictor caste is especially good at stealth 
killings. Once it embraces you, you can't even scream. You 
should get along famously with these, Pater. You have so 
much in common."
    Another shudder, another flash. "And the king snake. 
Bigger brain, stronger arms, and deadlier venom. They will 
be the ones who give you the most trouble as you try to 
take over."
    "What are you talking about, Chainer? How many of these 
things have you made?"
    Chainer grinned. "All of them." The final flash blew 
the First against the wall, and even drove Chainer back a 
step. The entire building shook. When the First had 
recovered, there was no one else in the room. No snakes, no 
attendants, only Chainer and the First.
    "My serpent Cabal is now on its way to Aphetto. Scores 
of them, hundreds. They will hunt and kill and feed and 
fight on the way. Those that are successful will become 
real-indistinguishable from things that were born instead 
of conjured. They will breed and spread throughout Otaria. 
Who is running Aphetto City for you now?"
    "The Parliament of Knives," the First said warily.
    "Within a week of their arrival, my snakes will have 
overthrown the Parliament. If I were you, I'd get down 
there quickly, before everyone who knows you is killed or 
driven out."
    The First nodded, angry but resigned to his defeat. He 
was staring at the Mirari as he spoke to Chainer. "Well 
done, my child. I can't help taking pride in-"
    "Shut up," Chainer said. "The only thing I want to hear 
out of you is your announcement to the city. And then, 
Calchexas, you will leave. If I ever see you again, I will 
make it my life's work to cut you to pieces, burn the 
remains, and scatter the ashes. I may not be able to kill 
you, but I can make you wish I had." Chainer closed his 
eyes, the Mirari glowed, and the First was once again 
bathed in black light. This light did not harm him, 
however. It merely cascaded around him.
    "Speak clearly, Pater. All of your children are 
listening, and you won't get a second chance."
    The First folded his arms into his sleeves. After one 
final glare at Chainer, he began to speak. "Attention, my 
children. This is the First. . . ."
    Chainer tuned him out as his mind sizzled and sparked 
from one topic to the next. First, he would honor his 
agreement with Laqua-tus, who had been instrumental in 
pinning down the First's secret name. Then, Chainer would 
crush all who came for the Mirari, including the Order and 
Burke and Kamahl, if they were foolish enough to compete.
    And then, he would devote the rest of his life to 
punishing the First. If he couldn't kill the patriarch, 
then he would take the one thing from him that mattered 
most, the Cabal itself. With Chainer's snakes in Aphetto 
and the Mirari in his hand, it was only a matter of time 
before all of Otaria danced to Chainer's tune. In fact, he 
noted with a laugh, the music for the dance had already 
started in his head.
 
                       CHAPTER 24
 
    From inside the Otaria Chasm, Veza watched    the    
conflict    between Llawan and Laquatus escalate toward 
civil war. Since the   water   portals   only worked from 
surface to surface,   the  two  sides  were forced to grind 
out a victory the old fashioned way, face-to-face on the 
battlefield.
    Llawan's first move was to send an armed force large 
enough to blockade the gorge, but not to storm it. Laquatus 
mocked her for not coming in person, and concentrated all 
of his mercenaries and undersea monsters at Llawan's end of 
the chasm. There were frequent skirmishes as the imperials 
tried to press in and the mercenaries labored to keep them 
out. The two forces continued to grow stronger and stronger 
as the days wore on.
    Veza had never witnessed a full-scale military 
engagement before, though she had heard vivid stories from 
her grandfather describing Aboshan's predecessor's rise to 
power. Where her grandfather described noble duels and 
magnificent noble beasts, Veza saw ambush and sniper 
attacks alongside the hideous spectacles of razor rays 
tearing into leviathans.
    Massive orcan warriors surged out of the chasm to 
engage the empress's troops, and though each was driven 
back, each took its toll on the imperial guard with their 
massive fists and powerful jaws. Laquatus's mercenaries 
were unwilling to fight hand-to-hand. They preferred to 
pounce from the shadows in overwhelming numbers, or to not 
leave the safety of the chasm.
    The ship-to-ship combat was even worse-giant, graceful, 
deep-sea creatures roaring and tearing at each other like 
wild dogs. Llawan's troops took heavy losses to the razor 
rays until they began using a school of electric eels that 
cooked the giant fish in mid-battle. Huge, paddle-footed 
beasts with long necks grabbed guards like fruit from a 
tree and were in turn choked by sargassum blasts or 
poisoned by lances coated in lethal puffer-fish extract.
    When she wasn't watching the endless stream of carnage 
and patrol ships, Veza spent her time sifting through the 
survey data she'd collected. She couldn't reconcile what 
she'd seen in the chasm with what she reviewed. The data 
indicated gemstone deposits, precious ores and metals, and 
a freshwater underground river that could easily be tapped 
for drinking water. Laquatus was delighted, and the more 
value she discovered, the more troops he brought in to hold 
it.
    Veza also had duties assigned to her by Laquatus. With 
the ambassador's armed guards by her side, Veza inspected 
the canyon walls for stability. Under their careful watch, 
she enchanted a series of blue crystals and affixed them to 
the walls along the entire length of the chasm. They 
crystals could relay magical impulses to one another. Veza 
used them to transmit data up and down the length of the 
flood zone. She also knew Laquatus intended to use the 
crystal arrays as a weapon. If he were forced to quit the 
chasm, he would send a signal to the crystals that would 
bring the walls crashing down around whoever was inside. He 
smiled when he told Veza of his plans, but he made it clear 
he did not fully trust her yet. He made sure that she was 
not allowed to alter the spell that powered the stones, so 
they could only transmit magical impulses, and only within 
the chasm. If anyone but Laquatus tried to use them in any 
other way, they would shatter.
    Finally, Llawan herself arrived at the head of another 
flotilla of ships and leviathans. Laquatus had sent Burke 
to collect Veza and politely forced her to sit and watch 
the show.
    Beyond the front, safe from the fighting, sat Llawan's 
private yacht, a smaller, slower version of her transport 
leviathan. Laquatus made sure the empress was indeed on 
board, and that Veza had an excellent view before he rolled 
out his surprise. The long, familiar shape of Llawan's 
transport leviathan streaked out of the chasm and plowed 
through her forces on a direct line of attack for the 
empress. Laquatus had not in fact slaughtered the empress's 
transport vessel, he had commandeered it and sent it into 
battle against her. Veza almost wept when the empress's 
troops were forced to strike the leviathan down with spell 
blasts and giant ballista bolts.
    Hours after the destruction of her transport, Llawan 
unleashed a squadron of heavily armed cephalids. Just as 
they came into range of the mercenaries' weapons, the 
squadron vanished from sight. The invisible squadron did a 
lot of damage to their unsuspecting foes before the 
enchantment wore off, and they were only captured and 
killed when they tried to storm Laquatus's command ship.
    After the initial exchange of hostility, the front 
stabilized just outside the chasm and each side settled in 
for a long siege. Not in the strictest sense of the word, 
Veza knew, because either side could abandon the battle any 
time they pleased by simply turning around and swimming 
away. Veza had been close enough to both Laquatus and 
Llawan to know that neither of them were going to do that. 
The entire empire was watching this conflict, and whoever 
came out of it victorious would have enough political and 
popular support to claim the imperial throne.
    Meanwhile, Veza continued to watch and research, 
Laquatus stayed safe in his canyon, and Llawan stayed safe 
in her luxury vessel while their troops tore each other to 
bits at the mouth of the canyon.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Kamahl strapped on his broadsword and took a few 
tentative steps across his tiny room. He was nowhere near 
full recovery, but he could walk. If he could walk, he 
could fight.
    Kamahl was sensitive to the Mirari, and he could feel 
the powerful forces gathering around it. He was uncertain 
but unafraid. Unknown challenges were a barbarian's stock 
in trade, after all, and the promise of a good contest was 
more than enough incentive for Kamahl to meet this one.
    Kamahl left the public house and joined the crowds of 
people heading for the Cabal City pits.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Cabal City's anniversary games drew more spectators and 
more combatants than any event ever before. Everyone in and 
around the city either wanted to take a shot at the Mirari 
or wanted to watch others do so. From his vantage point 
high above the arena floor, Chainer watched the crowds and 
the fighters buzz and vibrate like a huge hive of wasps.
    Chainer looked around at the former First's private 
box. It was a luxurious, round, floating platform with all 
the amenities visiting dignitaries expected. The First 
often watched important games from here, or rather, watched 
the crowd watching the games. Among the First's finery, 
with the Mirari safely hidden in his chambers, Chainer 
understood what Skellum meant when he spoke of the good 
things in life.
    Chainer leaned over the side of the platform with a 
dizzy grin on his face. All of the contestants had been 
assembled in the main pit below, and it was literally full 
of hundreds of humans and monsters crammed together under 
Chainer's box. Down there, they were waiting. Up here, he 
simply was, and would be until he decided to start the 
action.
    "Ladies, gentlemen, and others!" The announcer's voice 
was much louder up here than it was at ground level. 
"Welcome to the Mirari Games." A small cheer went up 
through the crowd.
    "Today we have something truly unique in store for you. 
The largest collection of fighters in the world has 
gathered for the right to claim the Mirari, the sphere of 
wonder. There will be only one winner. There-"
    A bolt of lightning shot up from the floor into the 
magical apparatus that amplified the announcer's voice, and 
his introduction sputtered and choked. Intrigued, Chainer 
peered more closely at the tall figure standing alone at 
the center of the only clear space on the arena floor.
    "Murderer," the figure cried, his voice echoing like a 
gong. "Destroyer of the innocent. The Order is here for 
retribution."
    "I know, justicar," Chainer said softly. "I've been 
counting on it."
    Justicar Gobal's hood and robe had been burned off by 
his initial blast, and he stood sparkling and crackling in 
his polished armor. Beside him, three more robed figures 
cast off their outer garments to reveal terrible, white-
winged angels armed with flaming swords. All around the 
arena, other fighters began to unsheathe their weapons. 
Others who were wiser, or perhaps more cowardly, quickly 
tried to exit the arena.
    "Your attack on our hospital killed more than healers 
and wounded soldiers. It killed the angels. In their place, 
Angels of
    Retribution have arisen. Your end comes now, Cabalist." 
The jus-ticar pointed his hand at Chainer, and the angels 
took wing. The justicar sent another bolt of lighting up 
toward Chainer's platform. The platform was thoroughly 
warded against all types of attack, however, and the 
justicar's bolt faded into nothingness before it ever 
touched Chainer.
    "Oh, no," Chainer said dramatically. "Angels and 
justicars! The Order has come for me! Whatever shall I do?" 
He focused on the Mirari back in his chamber, concentrated, 
and every door in the huge arena slammed shut and melted 
into the wall around it. His eyes were long gone, and his 
voice boomed out louder than the announcer's. "Come one, 
come all. The Mirari awaits. Who is strong enough to take 
it from me?"
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Veza was poring over a scroll when Burke entered her 
chamber. The gel man wore a small, circular hand mirror 
around his neck, and from it came Laquatus's voice.
    "Please follow my jack," Laquatus said. "There is 
something ! want you to see."
    Burke kept pace as Veza swam through the ship. She 
noticed that his hands and feet became flatter and wider 
when he swam, and he stayed by her side easily no matter 
how fast she went. She stole as many glances at his 
expressionless face as she dared, searching in vain for 
some flicker of recognition, or at least independence. 
Burke was as inscrutable as a mask.
    Laquatus had taken to filling his command ship with 
air, both for his mercenaries and in case anyone tried to 
teleport in. A cephalid assassin would find himself 
floundering on the floor as soon as he arrived, and they 
would drown without so much as touching Laquatus. Veza and 
Burke stepped into the chamber, and Laquatus greeted Veza 
with a warm, loud call.
    "Hello, Director. I'm about to contact the former 
empress to discuss terms of her surrender."
    Veza's eyes darted to the viewscreen, which showed the 
exact same standoff she had seen for the past week. 
Laquatus nodded, Burke gently nudged her forward, and Veza 
took the seat Laquatus offered her.
    "Get Llawan on the scrying screen," Laquatus said. He 
took out his own hand mirror, and Veza watched him whisper 
into it. She could see a thin man with braided black hair, 
but she did not recognize him and could not hear his voice. 
Finally, Laquatus said, "Done. A pleasure doing business 
with you, as always. And may I add, congratulations on your 
recent ascension." He paused while the other man spoke. 
"After today, you will be able to offer me similar 
sentiments." The mirror went dark, and he put it away with 
a smug little smile.
    "We have the empress, my lord."
    "Excellent. Put her on, and have the troops in the 
chasm stand by."
    Llawan appeared in the screen, with the mystic Olsham-
his eyes closed-and another cephalid officer at her side. 
"What do you want, Laquatus?"
    "Greetings, Empress. I hope you are well. Isn't it a 
fine day?"
    Veza's dread was like physical pain. She didn't know 
what Laquatus was up to, but she guessed he had been 
preparing for it since before he captured the survey 
vessel. She continued to stare at Olsham, willing the 
mystic to hear her silent message of warning.
    "Speak, irritant. You waste our time."
    "This is something in the nature of an official call, 
I'm afraid. I'm here to offer terms."
    "Then you will abandon this farce and submit yourself 
to imperial justice?"
    "Actually, Empress, I was going to offer you one last 
chance to surrender. You have already lost here. If you 
leave now, and cede the chasm to me, I will spare you the 
embarrassment of losing each and every one of your loyal 
guards. I may even spare your life."
    Llawan chittered. "You are a fool, Laquatus. We mock 
you and spurn your offer."
    "Are you sure?" Laquatus's obvious joy twisted Veza's 
stomach, but Llawan was unimpressed. She began to turn away 
from the screen.
    "Inform the troops," Laquatus said loudly. "Launch an 
all-out attack on the empress's forces. Begin immediately."
    Llawan paused and shook her head. "Your ego has finally 
grown past the point of your good sense," she said. "But 
the imperial guard will be happy to accommodate your 
lunacy."
    The occupants of both vessels heard the sounds of 
renewed combat. Llawan stared grimly at Laquatus, who 
stared, smiling at Llawan. Veza fought the urge to cry out 
to Olsham. Whatever was about to happen, the empress's ship 
would be better off if it were intangible, as her transport 
had been during the catastrophe that created the chasm.
    Olsham opened his eyes. Veza was the only one on board 
who had seen the empress's shield defenders in action, and 
so she was the only one who saw their almost transparent 
bodies stream up and encircle the empress. They did nor 
harden into their defensive formation, but they stood by, 
ready to do so.
    "Forgive me, Empress," said the yacht's cephalid 
captain. "But I think you should see this."
    Llawan turned, and Laquatus's bridge had a clear and 
unobstructed view of Llawan's, complete with the image that 
appeared on its scrying viewscreen.
    Both bridges stared silently at the images they saw. On 
Llawan's screen, a steady stream of dark, serpentine 
figures was pouring out of the chasm and surging forward to 
attack Llawan's troops. There were thousands of them, a 
multitude. Along with the ambassador's mercenaries and 
monsters, they slammed into the empress's line like a 
crashing wave, and slowly drove it back.
    When the empress spoke, it was to her crew, her voice 
thick with anger.
    "What are we looking at?"
    "I don't know, Empress. Those creatures seem to be 
corning from just outside the chasm rather than inside it."
    Llawan turned back to Laquatus. "They attack our loyal 
guards. What are they? What do they want?"
    Veza stared as the skirmish grew steadily bigger. Her 
memory had been jogged by the sight. She remembered a Cabal 
barge that docked in Breaker Bay some years ago. The 
Cabalists had set up a makeshift arena and staged a 
fighting demonstration. A wild-eyed woman with green eyes 
and a bald head challenged all comers, and she had beaten 
every one. Not her, Veza corrected herself. The monsters 
she created.
    "They are dementia creatures." Veza's voice was hushed, 
muted by fear.
    Laquatus beamed. "Yes," confirmed the ambassador, "and 
they are here to kill you, Llawan."
 
                       CHAPTER 25
 
    Kamahl watched Chainer release his reply to the 
attacking angels of vengeance. His casting matched the 
Order angel for angel, but Chainer's were    raven-
feathered    and armed with spiked maces.  The dark angels 
each engaged a single counterpart, and the terrible cries 
of all six warriors could be heard throughout the arena.
    While the angels continued to battle high above the 
arena floor, old grudges erupted all around Kamahl and 
desperate fighters lashed out at each other in an effort to 
escape. The Mirari Games were quickly turning into a bloody 
melee, and the crowd loved it. Kamahl wondered how long 
they would cheer before they realized they, too, were in 
danger. Neither Chainer nor the Order seemed to care about 
protecting innocent bystanders.
    The crowd around them cleared, and Kamahl got what he'd 
been waiting for, a line of sight on the justicar.
    He sent a small fireball blasting past the armored 
visor, and called, "Hey, sparky!"
    The justicar turned.
    "That's more warning than you gave me," Kamahl said. 
"And more than you deserve. This is twice now you've 
attacked the Cabal at home. I think it will be the last."
    "Stand aside, barbarian," the justicar said. "The Order 
will settle with you later."
    "For you, there is no later." Kamahl hauled his huge 
sword out and charged.
    The justicar sent a jag of lightning at Kamahl, but the 
barbarian easily drew it into his sword. "You think I don't 
know lightning? We pick our teeth with lightning up in 
Pardic." The justicar hurled another bolt which Kamahl also 
countered, then had to draw his own sword to defend 
himself.
    Kamahl's brass-colored blade rang against Gobal's 
silver one. The justicar tried to charge up for a larger 
bolt, but Kamahl was so close that he bled the armored 
figure's energy off before he could use it, storing it in 
the blade of his sword.
    "You fight like an officer," Kamahl jeered. He butted 
his head into the justicar's visor, denting it. "Welcome to 
the pits."
    Enraged, Gobal put a crackling hand on Kamahl and 
shoved him backward. Kamahl staggered but was able to block 
the justicar's sword stroke as it came down toward his 
head.
    "Is that it, shiny man? Are you really only dangerous 
when nobody knows your power?"
    Another Order soldier threw his spear at Kamahl. The 
barbarian caught the shaft in midair and burned it to ashes 
with a glare, but the distraction allowed Gobal enough time 
and space to raise his arms above his head. Hot, white 
light from all around the arena streamed into his hands, 
forming a swelling, crackling ball of energy.
    "You're done, justicar." Kamahl launched his broadsword 
with all his might, skewering Gobal through the chest. The 
energy stored in Kamahl's sword joined that in the 
justicar's body, and Gobal screamed. The circuit of energy 
fed on itself, and light began sparking out from all the 
seams of the justicar's armor. Kamahl conjured a small 
throwing axe, knocked Gobal's visor back with a wide round 
kick, and jammed the axe deep into his enemy's armor.
    Kamahl dove to the ground and covered his head just as 
Gobal exploded. The combination of lightning, fire, and 
fury was so intense that the sharp metal bits of the 
justicar's armor melted even before the force of the blast 
scattered them across the arena. All around him, Kamahl saw 
warriors and monsters alike cut down by the hail of molten 
silver.
    Without the armor, Gobal was unable to control the 
electricity that gave him his power. He became a much 
smaller, broken figure draped in rivulets of melted metal, 
a figure that grew ever smaller as jags of lightning leaped 
off his body and dissipated.
    Kamahl picked up his sword and stood ready as the 
justicar collapsed into a ball of flaming debris. Except 
for a charred pair of footprints and a few droplets of 
steaming metal, there was no evidence he had ever existed.
    "Bravo, barbarian!" Kamahl looked up and saw Chainer 
politely clapping. Kamahl touched the tip of his sword to 
his forehead, a gesture of recognition.
    Then he pointed at Chainer and drew the tip across his 
throat, beckoning the dementist down with a wave of his 
hand.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer laughed with delight at the shows both above 
and below his platform. On his level, the battle of angel 
versus angel prevented any other flying things from soaring 
too high. On the ground, Kamahl had just revenged himself 
on the justicar, and all of the other contestants were 
either killing each other to get at the Mirari, or killing 
each other to escape from the pit. He had planned it 
carefully, but he hadn't planned it anywhere near as well 
as it was happening.
    One of the Order angels broke free of its nightmare 
twin and tried once more to reach Chainer's platform. He 
waited until it was almost on top of him and then threw one 
of his anaconda people into her face. The snake wrapped its 
twelve-foot-long body around the angel's wings and torso 
and sank its venomless fangs into her sword arm. The angel 
cursed the snake, and both creatures fell out of sight.
    "What are you staring at?" Chainer yelled at the dark 
angel who no longer had an opponent. "Fight!" The angel 
bared her sharp teeth and hissed, but she complied. She 
slammed her mace into the unprotected shoulder of one of 
the Order angels then followed the wounded creature to the 
floor as she fell, striking as often as time and gravity 
permitted.
    Chainer was starting to see why the First treated 
everyone like children. There wasn't a single Cabalist left 
who could think and act for himself. He took one last look 
at the carnage on the floor and suddenly became bored. Why 
was he offering the Mirari when he already had the Mirari? 
No one but he could use it. It was a cruel waste of time to 
even offer the illusion of obtaining it.
    Chainer flipped the control switch that would bring the 
platform down. It was time to end this charade, clear the 
building, and start from scratch. New Cabal City would be 
twice as grand as the original, and there would be no Order 
to interfere with the Cabal's business.
    As the platform descended, Chainer hoped that Laquatus 
was putting his borrowed dementia monsters to good use. 
Once he had settled with the Order, Chainer vowed that the 
Mer empire woulc become nothing more than a subsidiary of 
the Cabal. He may have sworn an oath with Laquatus, but it 
was Laquatus who taught him that oaths could be broken.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Llawan's bridge was in chaos. Cephalid sailors and 
imperial guardsmen swarmed around the ship while her 
advisors counseled her to escape while she still could. She 
cleared the room of all but the command crew and Olsham, 
then she turned to the captain. "Take us into the 
battlefield." "But Empress-" the captain stammered.
    "Do as we command. We will not allow our most loyal 
subjects to be killed by phantoms." She turned back down to 
the mirror clasped in her forelimb. "Silence! You have 
broken our bargain, Cabalist. We have a personal guarantee 
from the First!" she screeched. "There was to be no 
interference!"
    "The First has gone south to Aphetto," said a young man 
with black braids and a void in his eyes. "Who are you 
again?"
    "We are the Empress Llawan, rightful heir to the throne 
of Mer." "Never heard of you. Sorry." "We demand to speak 
to your patriarch." The young man paused. He seemed amused. 
"Who's we?" If the braided man had been in the room, the 
look on Llawan's face alone would have struck him dead with 
fear. "What is your name, Cabalist?"
    "My name is Chainer, and if you don't leave me alone 
I'm going to change my mind. And then you'll be sorry." The 
connection broke, and the mirror went dark.
    Llawan lowered die mirror. "The man is mad." She turned 
to Olsham. "Have you any ideas, mystic? Can this endeavor 
end well for Llawan?"
    Olsham closed his eyes and bent his limbs into a 
complex sigil. "There is always a chance, Empress. But in 
this case, chance is not enough."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Laquatus sipped at a fine white wine as he watched the 
destruction of Llawan's hopes for the throne. With 
Chainer's monsters, his forces outnumbered Llawan's four-
to-one, and he had major sea serpents and an orcan behemoth 
still in reserve.
    Burke stood at Laquatus's side, silent and subservient. 
Laquatus was sorry to miss Chainer's Mirari Games, but he 
knew the treasure would keep. Someday soon, he would sit in 
the First's luxury box, watch Burke tear the competition 
limb from limb, and finally lay claim to the prize. 
Laquatus smiled. That is, he would do these things if the 
foolish boy Chainer hadn 't destroyed himself and all of 
Cabal City by now. Laquatus truly hoped that Chainer was 
still alive, so he could watch his own creation steal the 
Cabal's greatest treasure for the glory of Mer.
    "Ambassador." One of his mercenary chiefs stood in the 
doorway to Laquatus's chamber.
    "Emperor," Laquatus corrected him. He sipped his wine. 
"We are forcing Llawan's guard away from the mouth of the 
chasm. We should have room to bring out the behemoth 
shortly." "Excellent. Keep me informed." "There is one 
other thing, Amb . . . Emperor." "Yes?"
    "Llawan's command ship has left the edge of the 
battle." Laquatus rose and struggled to keep his voice 
calm. "She is abandoning the field?" He had expected more 
of a fight before she accepted defeat.
    "No, Emperor. She is joining the battle."
    "That cannot be. She would never . . ." Laquatus 
stopped as the chief pointed to the scrying screen. It 
clearly showed a host of Cabal serpents battling a host of 
Llawan's cephalids. It also showed Llawan's yacht and the 
obvious positive impact it had on her troops' morale.
    "Why, that reckless, soft-skulled witch," he said, 
amused. This was even better than he had dreamed. Defeating 
Llawan's army would earn him the throne, but killing Llawan 
in the process would ensure that his reign lasted for the 
rest of his naturally long life.
    "Take us farther into the chasm," he said. "Oh, and 
Veza? I heard you trying to contact that psychic octopus. 
I'm very disappointed." He turned to one of his 
mercenaries. "Kill her." The mercenary drew his knife and 
advanced on Veza.
    She had been waiting for this, fully aware that 
Laquatus would have detected her pleas to Olshatn. Veza was 
not a warrior, but she trusted her own speed and strength 
when compared to that of a surface dweller. The man's knife 
flashed, and Veza stunned him with a sharp blow across the 
face. Blood flowed, but the mercenary did not fall.
    Laquatus and the rest of the bridge crew laughed. 
"You're fired," Laquatus called to the bleeding mercenary, 
and the man growled in anger. He drew his sword.
    Veza didn't wait for Laquatus to order more mercenaries 
into the fight. She ran from the room and hit the flooded 
corridor in a running dive. The laughter stopped, and Veza 
heard more bodies break the surface of the corridor as the 
mercenaries pursued. She pressed on, confident that no 
human being, no matter how well enhanced, could swim faster 
than a mermaid.
    She had been in and out of the ship numerous times, and 
she knew she could make it at least as far as the edge of 
the chasm. Better to die randomly in the battle as a 
subject of the empire than as a coward on a traitor's 
command vessel.
    Veza found the exit hatch and opened it wide. The last 
thing she heard before plunging into the frigid waters of 
the chasm was Laquatus's amplified voice, echoing 
throughout the ship.
    "Burke?" he said. "Retrieve the prisoner."
 
                       CHAPTER 26
 
    Chainer made his way back to his chambers. He did not 
go unchallenged, but he might as well have. A   small   
band   of   Nantuko pounced on him as he came off of the 
platform, but they were quickly collared and absorbed. 
Chainer broke a few bones with weighted chains as he went, 
but for the most part the fighters gave him a wide berth, 
and the spectators ran at the sight of him.
    One  of the  First's  toys  was buzzing as he opened 
the door. It was a handheld mirror with a talking octopus 
in its glass. Chainer made a half-hearted stab to figure 
out what she wanted, then shattered the mirror over his 
knee. He had more important things to occupy his time.
    The Mirari was where he left it, under the pyramid of 
paper in the corner of the smallest room. No one dared 
enter his chamber after he had deposed the First, and he 
doubted anyone would have believed him audacious enough to 
hide it there anyway. He took the glowing black sphere in 
his hands, and once again marveled at the depth of the 
power it contained. He should have used it to find a way to 
kill the First. Cabal City was nothing to him now, and 
worse, it was an obstacle. He would have to tear it all 
down before he could build it back up again properly.
    Chainer drew the power into him and began to shape it. 
What he had in mind was complicated and would happen on a 
scale undreamed of even by the most fervid dementist. He 
reached out into Cabal City and beyond to Aphetto. His mind 
flew out past Krosan, across all of Otaria, and beyond into 
the depths of Mer. He could see and feel every dementia 
caster there was, each of them linked by their power and 
their oath to the Cabal. He felt a few dead spots in his 
continental sweep, a few individuals who could not be 
contacted. Fulla, for example, and a handful of casters in 
Aphetto. Perhaps the truly disconnected were beyond even 
the Mirari's reach.
    No matter, he thought. He had more than enough. The 
Cabal taught them the ways of power, and they in turn used 
that power to benefit the Cabal. But the Cabal was dead 
now, just waiting to be buried. It was time for a new 
covenant, one that Chainer would enforce.
    All across the land, he felt casters stop, freeze, and 
remain rigid. Skellum had always said that a master needs 
pupils, and in one stroke Chainer had more than any master 
who had ever lived. With the Mirari, he could enter each of 
their minds and commandeer them. He could occupy all the 
dementia space there was and turn it toward his goals. He 
could assemble the largest and most diverse army of 
dementia monsters that had ever been.
    "Like this!" he cried, and he was suddenly back in his 
own dementia space even as he remained in his chambers. 
Both locations superimposed on top of each other, fusing 
and separating over and over. It was as empty there as it 
had been when he first arrived, and Chainer suddenly felt 
very small and lonely. He had been expecting a multitude, 
and he was unnerved by the complete lack of company. Where 
had they all gone?
    He heard a fresh scream nearby, and he appeared back in 
his chambers. They were all around him. Sprawled across his 
floor and spilling out in to the hall, visible in the 
courtyard outside his window and throughout the streets of 
Cabal City, a million monsters or more howled and hunted 
and rampaged and roared. Twisted nightmare versions of 
people, animals, birds, snakes-fantastic beasts of the 
forest and terrifying monsters from the depths all lashed 
out at themselves and the world around them. Chainer had 
opened the floodgates of his mind, and the Mirari was 
keeping them open.
    Chainer laughed and sat on the pile of paper with the 
Mirari in his lap as the entire city wailed in horror.
    "The Cabal is here," he cackled, "and nowhere else."
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Kamahl had never seen such chaos. It became difficult 
to tell who was real and who was a summoning, and 
impossible to tell which side they were on. Harpy fought 
angel, zombie fought trooper, and all manner of things that 
never had names fought beasts from the forest that had 
never been seen. Kamahl did not consider himself a 
brilliant man, but he knew how to learn from experience. An 
out-of-control catastrophe spelled Mirari, and a flood of 
monsters spelled Chainer. Kamahl concentrated. He could 
feel the sphere's presence. His former partner had finally 
fallen victim to the Mirari's curse.
    It was not hard to locate the Mirari, and Kamahl made 
his way through the killing floor as fast as his wounds 
permitted. There were plenty of victims to go around, and 
Kamahl encouraged a few of the monsters to find easier 
pickings with the tip of his sword. Before long, he was at 
the end of the long hallway that led to Chainer and the 
Mirari.
    "Chainer," he bellowed. A hissing snake man attacked 
him, and Kamahl burned its throat out where it stood.
    "Is that my old friend and partner?" Chainer's voice 
called back.
    "Come on out, 'old friend.' Let's finish this."
    The flood of sprawling monsters pouring out of the 
chamber door momentarily increased just before Chainer came 
through it. The creatures fled past Kamahl without looking 
at him. They were far more interested in getting away from 
their master.
    Chainer's braided hair splayed out around his head like 
a crown. His eyes were black again, but the void had 
spilled out of his sockets and was obscuring the top half 
of his face. His feet floated six inches above the ground, 
and he held the Mirari in his metal hand. He was smiling.
    "Kamahl."
    "Chainer."
    "Have you come to apologize, or to kill me and take the 
Mirari?"
    "Neither. I've come to stop you."
    "Stop me? From what?"
    "From destroying yourself. From destroying this city." 
He shrugged. "From destroying everything."
    Chainer's smile faded. "Still looking out for me, big 
brother? I have a bad history with authority figures, you 
know. They always die or betray me."
    "I'm not your brother, Chainer. I'm your friend. Listen 
to me. You've got to put the Mirari down. You're going to 
get us all killed."
    "We have to get killed," Chainer flared. "Have to 
destroy before I can rebuild."
    "If you don't put it down, I'm going to put you down."
    Chainer smiled again. "Aaah, threats. You don't really 
think you have a chance, do you?"
    "Enough talk." Kamahl drew his sword. "Now we fight."
    "You don't look healthy enough to fight."
    "I'm healthy enough to fight you. Not your monster 
pawns, not the Mirari. You.
    "I don't need pawns," Chainer said darkly. He gestured 
at Kamahl's weapon. "Don't you know that no one with a 
sword can get the best of someone with a chain? That's why 
I carry this thing."
    "Then let's go. You're right, Chainer, I'm not healed. 
But this isn't the pits. There isn't a scheduled conclusion 
to this fight. Care to test your skill?"
    Chainer's eyes twinkled. "Are you proposing that we 
come to some sort of arrangement?"
    "No arrangement. No tricks. Just a plain challenge. I 
say I can take you using nothing but my sword. Can you take 
me with just a length of chain?"
    "And my dagger. I used to use that, too."
    "And your dagger. Come on, Chainer, it's you and me. We 
both fought for the Mirari. Now we can fight fair, and may 
the best man win."
    "Done," Chainer said. He tossed the Mirari through the 
open door into the next room and squared off against his 
former partner.
    Kamahl breathed a sigh of relief. At least the building 
wouldn't go up in a black cloud of debris and body parts 
while they were fighting. Now all he had to do was overcome 
the pain of his wounds and the fatigue in his body to 
defeat his insane ex-partner who could kill with a gesture 
and created both weapons and monsters out of thin air.
    After he had done that, Kamahl promised himself he 
would look into some other kind of work.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Veza swam for all she was worth, but Burke caught her 
just outside the chasm. He never seemed to get tired, and 
Veza simply could not keep up the pace. From the mirror 
around his bodyguard's neck, Laquatus watched as Veza was 
recaptured.
    "Now you are mine," Laquatus said, "along with the 
empire."
    Veza struggled in Burkes grip, but she was staring at 
the war being waged around her. In the distance, something 
new was happening on the battlefield. Veza allowed herself 
a small smile.
    "Nothing is yours yet, Laquatus."
    "Emperor," a mercenary's voice said, "are you seeing 
this?"
    "Seeing what?"
    "Look at the battle. Look! By the depths, what's going 
on?"
    Veza looked. Inexplicably, the hundreds and hundreds of 
serpent warriors who had been grappling with Llawan's 
soldiers were vanishing in mid-blow. His mercenaries found 
themselves face-to-face with trained imperial guards, and 
the guards adjusted much more quickly than their new 
opponents. Within seconds of the final serpent's 
disappearance, a hundred of Laquatus's mercenaries fell 
dead, and the rest fell back in disarray.
    "Perhaps you only rented those warriors from the 
Cabal," Veza called into the mirror. "I'll bet it's not too 
late to get your deposit back."
    "Get my troops back inside the chasm. Burke, kill that 
wench and bring her body back here."
    Veza didn't wait for Burke to comply. Instead, she 
clamped on to the gel man's thumb with her short, sharp 
teeth. With a wrench that nearly dislocated her jaw, she 
tore the digit off and spat it back in its owner's face. 
Minus his thumb, Burke could not maintain his grip on 
Veza's wrist, and she was able to kick her way free and 
dart out into the open ocean.
    Burke was close behind, however. Apparently he took any 
order Laquatus gave him to heart. He elongated his feet to 
give him more drive, and with each stroke he stretched his 
arms a little closer to Veza.
    When his finger brushed Veza's foot, she panicked and 
dove for the sea bed. Burke changed course even quicker 
than she did and actually gained on her before she could 
hide among the seaweed and silt. She needed to go faster. 
She needed her tail. It was impossible, though. She 
couldn't change while moving, and the transformation was 
extremely painful. Burke would be on her before the process 
had even begun.
    Just as his hand closed around her leg, the empress's 
ship swam into view. Burke snapped Veza's ankle, and she 
sank painfully to the sand. She cradled her injured leg and 
wondered why he wasn't finishing her off. She looked up, 
and saw the reason.
    Burke was beset by the empress's barracuda. All twelve 
of the spindly killer fish circled around him, breaking 
their teeth on his body and occasionally ripping small 
chunks off. The pieces of Burke's body immediately floated 
back and rejoined the main mass. The barracuda were ill-
equipped to deal with something that didn't panic, bleed, 
or feel pain.
    Burke, on the other hand, was killing the barracuda 
with both hands. They were strong and they were fierce, but 
they were not faster than Burke, and they had bones he 
could break. Five of the fish already floated dead in the 
water around him. In a matter of seconds he would be 
through them and ready to finish Veza.
    Veza concentrated. Laquatus was wrong, magic wasn't 
about being mentally, physically, and morally flexible. It 
was about understanding the world and your place in it. 
Veza felt the powerful tides flowing out of the chasm, felt 
the palpable force of the civil war around her, felt the 
bond between the barracuda and Llawan. I am a servant of 
Mer, Veza reminded herself. I am of the sea.
    "Change," she commanded, and her legs merged seamlessly 
and painlessly into a powerful fish's tail. Burke was just 
finishing off the last of the barracuda when he noticed 
Veza's metamorphosis. He elongated his arm across the gap 
between them to clutch at her throat, but she shot off like 
an arrow through the air. She laughed, exhilarated as she 
screamed toward the empress's vessel, until she felt 
Burke's hand close round her lower extremities once more.
    The gel man's arm had continued to stretch after her as 
she swam, and now he had her snared in a long, tough line 
of his own bodily substance. He didn't have much power at 
this distance, but he was able to hold her fast. She now 
outweighed Burke, so he couldn't draw her toward him, but 
he was quickly pulling himself closer to her by retracting 
his arm and letting her weight carry him forward. Veza 
thrashed and clawed at Burke s unyielding hand.
    Suddenly, the featureless killer stopped. Through the 
water, Veza could make out Laquatus's voice from the mirror 
around his servant's neck. Burke stood still, nodded, then 
released Veza's tail. He struck out, back toward the chasm.
    Laquatus must have summoned him home. There was a cloud 
of bubbles and a whirling sensation, and Veza found herself 
and the remaining barracuda on the bridge of the Llawan's 
vessel.
    "Greetings, Veza. We are so glad to see you alive. Is 
all as you described it to Olsham?" "It is, Empress."
    "Then, my mystic, if you would begin?"
    The cephalid mystic nodded and once more formed a 
complicated symbol with his multiple arms. Llawan joined 
him, and between the two of them they wound up looking like 
a strange new alphabet.
    Veza looked to the screen. All of Laquatus's 
mercenaries had retreated back into the chasm and were 
fending off Llawan's troops. Veza tapped the captain on the 
shoulder and said, "Pull those guards away from there." He 
looked dubious, but he decided not to question her 
authority. Several seconds later, the imperial troops 
backed off.
    "All clear, Empress." Veza anxiously counted the 
seconds. Once more, Veza spotted the flow of the shield 
defenders' transparent bodies as they positioned themselves 
in front of the chasm. "The shield is in position."
    Llawan clicked, and her shield defenders formed their 
barrier, larger and thinner than they had ever created 
before. It sparkled like a sheet of ice, and Veza could 
even see a ghostly reflection of the empress's troops in 
it. Olsham reached out and traced a huge circle in the 
water before him, and the huge convex shield tilted 
slightly, sparking at its edges and reflecting the light 
back upon itself.
    At last, a huge silver-white plane of energy flickered 
across the transparent shield. The energy flowed past the 
empress's servants and continued out to cover the mouth of 
the chasm. It was almost a mile across, wide enough to 
overlap the chasm opening by several hundred feet on both 
sides. It stretched from the ocean floor to the water's 
surface, and Veza knew it would stretch across the entire 
chasm, the magical impulses relayed by the crystals she 
herself had installed, to enclose the entire flood zone in 
a huge tunnel of mystical energy. A cheer went up among the 
bridge crew.
    Olsham and Llawan opened their eyes. Olsham smiled and 
said, "Behold, Empress. The largest water portal ever 
created. Or rather, the largest portal barrier ever 
created. Nothing outside the chasm can get in, and-"
    "Nothing inside can get out. As always, Olsham, you 
exceed our expectations." Llawan turned and noticed Veza's 
wound. "All hail the noble sacrifice made by our comrades, 
warriors and defenders both. And captain, get a medic to 
the bridge," she snapped. "Our valued sister is injured. 
Are you blind?" "Sorry, my empress."
    Llawan floated down and gathered Veza up in her 
forelimbs. "Is the damage permanent?"
    "No, Empress. I think it's a simple fracture." She 
flexed her tail and winced. "A very painful one, but a 
simple one."
    "Veza," Llawan said softly. "Are you sure that Laquatus 
and all his troops were inside the chasm when the portal 
was created?" "Yes, Empress."
    Llawan smiled. "Then we have won." She handed Veza to 
the medic, then began floating back toward the view screen.
    "Empress," Veza called. "You planted the survey data 
that proved the chasm was valuable, didn't you?"
    Llawan smiled. "Olsham altered the recording device 
before he teleported off the ship."
    "So you used me."
    "Not at all. We employed you. We assigned you a task, 
and you performed it. It is the right of the empress to 
demand service from her subjects."
    "Service, Empress, or sacrifice? Your leviathan, its 
crew, your soldiers and shield defenders. Even me."
    Llawan scowled. "What is your point, Veza? Laquatus 
would have sunk the entire empire into economic warfare and 
decadence. This is why civil wars are fought. To preserve 
that which is worth preserving, at any cost."
    Veza nodded, then floated quietly as the medic examined 
her tail. "Forgive me, Empress. My wound has made me light-
headed."
    "Of course. When you are healed," Llawan said, "you 
will join us in the palace as our Imperial Counsel. We have 
risked much together, and we do not refer exclusively to 
our personage. You and all of our loyal subjects either 
made us empress, or welcomed us as empress. Now that we 
have earned that title fairly in combat, we will not forget 
those who made it possible. We expect a steady flow of 
consistently good advice from you, Counsel."
    "Yes, Empress." Veza felt herself being taken away, and 
though she didn't know exactly where she was going, for the 
first time in months that wasn't something she had to worry 
about.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Chainer sent three separate chains screaming at 
Kamahl's sword. The first two locked and held onto the 
blade, while the third snared Kamahl's wrist. Chainer 
hauled with all his might, but he could not pull the sword 
loose or Kamahl down.
    Annoyed, he sent another chain coiling around Kamahl's 
foot. With a brutal tug, he finally hauled Kamahl off his 
feet. Kamahl dropped his sword as he fell, and took hold of 
the chains himself. When he hit the ground, he yanked hard 
to pull Chainer toward him, but the chains vanished before 
Kamahl could bring his superior strength and weight into 
play.
    A rounded weight broke Kamahl's jaw before he could get 
up. "Guess you'll have to learn how to fight without teeth 
now too, won't you barbarian?" Chainer's voice was high-
pitched and grating. Kamahl sneered and spit blood at 
Chainer. He reached for his sword, but Chainer struck it 
and sent it skittering across the floor.
    "I'm getting bored now." Chainer sank a sharpened 
weight into Kamahl's thigh, and another into his shoulder. 
"I can stand here, twenty feet away, and whittle you down 
to nothing. I told you. The sword is useless against the 
chain."
    Kamahl stood firm, his breath ragged and blood 
streaming from his wounds. "You should just kill me now, 
then. There's no audience to be disappointed by a short 
bout."
    Chainer wagged a finger at his partner. "Now, now. We 
both know you're not that weak." He slashed another chain 
at Kamahl, but the barbarian ducked under it. "Not yet, 
anyway."
    Kamahl conjured an axe and hurled it down the corridor 
at Chainer. Reflexively, Chainer threw out his hand and 
released a large, gelatinous mass which absorbed and 
muffled the explosion.
    "I thought you said no magic."
    Kamahl shrugged. "I was just trying to clear us some 
space."
    "Now you've done it," Chainer said. "You've made me 
angry." He jutted both arms out in the casting position, 
but instead of the death bloom or a nightmare casting, ten 
sharp chains exploded out of his hands, streaming and 
curling in twisted spirals as they flew toward Kamahl. The 
hallway was not wide enough for him to dodge them all. Six 
of them found their way into his body, linking his sword 
arm and both legs to Chainer. Kamahl stiffened but did not 
fall. He couldn't move, but he would not go down.
    "The best man wins. That's what you said, isn't it?" 
Chainer walked casually toward the immobilized barbarian. 
He waved his hand, and the Mirari appeared in it. "I think 
I'll do something really special for you, Kamahl. You 
rejected my gifts once. If I remake you from the bones out 
as one of my snakes, however, you won't have any choice but 
to accept it." Chainer stood less than an arm's length from 
Kamahl. He reached out his metal arm and daintily flicked 
Kamahl in the chest. The nudge sent Kamahl teetering 
backward, and he began to topple like a great tree. Before 
he fell, however, Kamahl reached out and grabbed on to 
Chainer's metal arm.
    "Let go of me, you lump of rock." Chainer jerked his 
arm back, but Kamahl didn't let go. He clamped onto the 
artificial limb with the other hand and steadied himself on 
his feet.
    "I'm sorry, Chainer," he said, and channeled a 
withering blast of heat from his own body into Chainer's 
arm.
    The metal limb instantly became red-hot, and Chainer 
screamed. He dropped the Mirari and drew his dagger, 
stabbing it into Kamahl's forearm, once, twice, a half 
dozen times. Kamahl grimly held on through it all, pumping 
more heat and more energy through his hands.
    Chainer's arm melted into slag with a wet, angry hiss. 
He fell backward and lashed his foot out at Kamahl, finally 
knocking the barbarian onto his back.
    "That was a gift from Skellum," Chainer hissed. "Can't 
you barbarians lay off my thrice-damned arm?" He kicked 
Kamahl in the ribs as he stepped over his prone body to 
retrieve the Mirari. He took the sphere in his remaining 
hand, closed his eyes, and concentrated. The smoking end of 
his stump started to swell, and a new arm began to unfold 
like an inflating balloon. It wasn't Chainer's arm, or any 
human's. It was a thin, segmented claw like an insect's, 
and Chainer looked at it in confusion.
    "That's not right," he said. The insect claw vanished, 
and in its place a large, black rattlesnake sprouted. 
Chainer scowled at it until it withered. Another attempt 
produced a mewling, eyeless monstrosity that wailed like a 
baby until Chainer shook it away.
    "Chainer, what's happening?"
    "I don't know," he said. What was happening? How could 
the Mirari keep failing?
    Unless he had overtaxed it. Of course. He had been 
communing with the sphere for days, actively using it for 
the past half hour, and then had simply cast it aside. Of 
course it was malfunctioning, he wasn't using it properly. 
He ought to have pulled himself out of the sphere's 
bottomless well of power before he tried to do something 
else. Also, it was probably mad at him for abandoning it.
    "Chainer, wait."
    "Shush." Chainer absently flicked his arm toward the 
helpless barbarian, and a torrent of misshapen snakes and 
monsters swamped Kamahl where he lie.
    Chainer tried one final time to make himself an arm, 
but it came out as a lifeless and callused roll of flesh. 
Nearby, Kamahl was grappling with the tangle of horrors and 
losing. Chainer shook his head. That wouldn't do. He had 
promised Kamahl a fair fight.
    In fact, the entire building was getting too noisy and 
crowded. Chainer needed peace and quiet to kill his friend, 
and he held the Mirari up to help him get it.
    "Chainer," Kamahl gurgled from the bottom of the pile. 
"Don't."
    "Hold on," Chainer said. "I'm almost done." With the 
sphere in his hand, he once again felt all of the minds he 
had broken into and pillaged, all of them still frozen and 
empty. Instead of reaching into those minds, this time 
Chainer reached out into the world. The other dementists 
were merely relay stations for his dementia space now, and 
there was no reason to give back what he had rightfully 
stolen. He wanted to finish Kamahl man to man, however, and 
for that he needed quiet.
    Chainer used the Mirari to locate each and every one of 
the monsters he had unleashed since the games began. He was 
surprised how many of them were left. In fact, there were 
very few people left alive in the arena around him, and the 
monsters there had turned on each other. All the more 
reason to call them home, he thought. The battle's nearly 
over, and we've already won.
    All around Otaria, the flow of power reversed as a 
million nightmares began to flow back into the fragmented 
brain that created them.
    "This kind of hurts," Chainer said. "Is it supposed to 
hurt?"
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Buried by hostile monsters, Kamahl was helpless to stop 
Chainer. He watched the Cabalist as the Mirari sent blasts 
of light out in all directions, and then a thousand smaller 
beams began flowing back into Chainer's body.
    "This kind of hurts," Chainer said. "Is it supposed to 
hurt?"
    "Drop it, Chainer!" Kamahl tried to yell more, but 
something with hooves instead of fists punched him in the 
mouth.
    The swarm of monsters stopped tearing at him as the 
lights beaming into Chainer began to grow larger, faster, 
and more frequent. Kamahl was still unable to move, but at 
least he wasn't being damaged any further.
    Chainer was screaming now. They were no longer merely 
beams of light slamming into him, but elongated streamers 
of flesh, eyes, fangs, stingers, and claws. Not just 
energy, but mass was pouring into him, and his physical 
form was not prepared to deal with it. In a final burst of 
triumphant, agonizing sound, the air around Chainer's body 
imploded and a flash of purple light blew outward, knocking 
stones loose from the wall and almost reburying Kamahl in 
rubble.
    Many silent minutes passed. Then Kamahl broke the 
silence by shoving one of the larger stones off of his 
chest and letting it crash loudly to the floor. The 
barbarian painfully got to his feet and limped down the 
hall to where Chainer writhed.
    At first Kamahl thought his friend was coated in some 
kind of undulating ooze, but as he looked closer, he saw 
the truth. It wasn't something on Chainer's body that 
squirmed, it was Chainer's body. Though he still had the 
same build and the same shape, Chainer's arms, legs, chest, 
head, even his hair was now a turbulent mass of wriggling 
monsters. Tiny eyes looked up at Kamahl, and miniature 
fangs formed, struck, then melted again. Sometimes a head 
or a hand would rise above the surface of his skin, and 
snakes swam all through the unstable flesh like sharks in a 
feeding frenzy. His nose and mouth were only shapes, and 
those shapes were crammed full of tongues and scales and 
fingers and talons. Even his missing arm had been replaced 
with the cancer of living monsters.
    Worst of all were his eyes. Chainer's brilliant blue 
eyes had returned, and they bore mute and tragic testimony 
to the agony he suffered.
    The Mirari had rolled free and sat unobtrusively on the 
floor. It seemed smaller and drab, its eerie black glow 
extinguished. Kamahl marveled that he and so many others 
had fought and bled for something that appeared to be 
nothing more than a spent cannonball, or a discarded 
child's toy. He knelt down next to Chainer.
    The hideous parody of his friend's body reacted to his 
closeness, and Chainer clumsily flopped a boneless arm 
toward Kamahl's hand. Kamahl took it, and he fought the 
urge to release the hideous squirming thing and start 
hacking it with his sword. Chainer pulled on Kamahl's arm, 
and the barbarian leaned forward to put his ear next to the 
place that had been Chainer's mouth.
    "Mu. Ra. Ree."
    Kamahl had no idea how the sound was created, but he 
understood. He shook his head. "You don't need it. It'll 
only make things worse."
    Chainer shook his head, his eyes pleading. He tried to 
point at it with his free arm.
    "Yours. Take. You. Take it."
    "I'm not so sure I want it anymore."
    Chainer's horrid grip grew tighter. "Must," he gurgled. 
"Not. Safe."
    "All right, Chainer. I'll take it, and I'll keep it 
safe." A hundred battles had taught him not to argue with a 
dying man.
    Chainer's grip relaxed. "Sorry," he said. "So sorry."
    Kamahl held his friend's hand until the squirming 
stopped and his ragged breath stopped completely. He stood, 
remembering the simple courtesy he had paid to dead enemies 
and allies alike. In this case, it was the least he could 
do to free Chainer's spirit from the hideous form it had 
been shackled to.
    With a wave, Kamahl burned Chainer's twisted body to 
cinders. When he was alone, he caught site of the Mirari 
once more, so unassuming in repose. He had told Chainer the 
truth. He wasn't sure if he really wanted it anymore. But 
he also had made a promise to his friend, and he thought he 
understood why Chainer had insisted and why he had agreed.
    After a few moment's hesitation, Kamahl bent and picked 
up the Mirari. For a brief moment, he saw a huge, smoking 
battlefield littered with corpses and an ocean of 
multicolored flames. And then he was alone, surrounded by 
the memory of monsters and the death of his friend.
    EPILOGUE
    Laquatus and his mercenaries had explored the length 
and depth of the chasm, and the news was the same: There 
was no simple way out. All the water in the chasm was 
surrounded by Veza's barrier, one giant, permanent portal 
that only led to itself. Anyone who touched the barrier 
from within or without instantly appeared on the exact 
opposite side of the chasm, on the same side of the barrier 
that they started on. Those inside couldn't step out. Those 
outside couldn't step in.
    The trap for Laquatus also served as a source of income 
for Llawan. While Laquatus and his forces were trapped 
inside, Llawan's functionaries, had already fixed a price 
for merchants to use the portal's external surface as rapid 
transit for shipping from one side of Otaria to the other. 
He was not only trapped, he was isolated from any and all 
Mer commerce.
    Disrupting the barrier from the inside was costly and 
difficult. Since the field was powered by the newly formed 
tides in the chasm, penetrating the field required enough 
magical power to baffle the elemental force of the tides 
themselves. For the time being, Laquatus couldn't do it 
alone for long, and he could only open a hole big enough 
for a few people at a time.
    Still, he had the resources and the time he needed to 
breach the barrier. He still had his contacts inside the 
Order, and a good working relationship with the First, 
should the Cabal patriarch ever return. And the Mirari was 
still out there, in the hands of one ignorant savage or 
another.
    Laquatus accepted defeat as he did victory. Each was 
merely a shorter step in his lifelong campaign for 
greatness. He had been bested and embarrassed in Mer, and 
it was his own fault. His mistake was to go after the Mer 
imperial throne and the Mirari at the same time. In the 
future, he would focus all his attention on obtaining the 
sphere and then use it to carve out a kingdom for himself. 
Llawan may have temporarily exiled him from the deep, but 
that simply meant that he must turn his sights inland. 
There were a million land crawlers to conquer, a dozen 
factions to play against one another, and a priceless 
source of power to be obtained.
    First, the sphere. Then Otaria. Then, the empire. After 
that? Laquatus laughed in his spacious prison.
    If his ambition was as bottomless as the seas, why 
shouldn't his power extend as far?
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Kamahl stepped out of the Cabal City arena and squinted 
in the bright, setting sun. He was preoccupied by thoughts 
of the Mirari, the way it reacted so swiftly to its 
handler's thoughts. Therein lay the real danger of it. 
Chainer's thoughts had been dark and troubled, and Kamahl's 
own were violent. He wondered what would happen the next 
time Jeska gave him lip. Would she spontaneously burst in 
to flames because Kamahl thought about it?
    The street was full of surviving spectators and pit 
fighters. The crowd was murmuring, and all eyes were on the 
Mirari. ". . . killed the entire Cabal ..."
    ". . . the only survivor ..."
    "I challenge you, barbarian."
    Kamahl looked up at the Order officer who had stepped 
forward. She was a tall and immaculate aven, almost 
blinding in her white robes. She drew a long sword and a 
short dagger.
    "For the Mirari," she continued. "I will fight you for 
the Mirari."
    "When you've killed her," said a burly Cabalist, "I 
will fight you for the Mirari."
    "Then me."
    "I will fight, too."
    One of Kamahl's own people, a barbarian from Pardic, 
stepped forward. "Forgive me, cousin. But I will fight you 
for the Mirari. It is our way."
    Kamahl stared out at the growing number of challengers. 
His sword felt heavy, and he had never felt so tired. His 
burns still ached, and for the first time in his short, 
brutal life, Kamahl wanted to rest rather than fight. The 
other barbarian was right, however. It was their way to 
compete for the things they wanted, to constantly improve 
their skills and their situation through combat.
    Reluctantly, Kamahl drew his sword and almost dropped 
it from his clumsy, aching hands. He looked at the long 
line of challengers, growing longer all the time, and the 
crush of others who edged closer, unwilling to wait for 
their turn. Warriors and monsters and dementia beasts all 
jostled for the right to kill him and collect the spoils.
    Kamahl snorted a bitter laugh. Improve through combat? 
If he survived the next few hours, according to the ways of 
his people, he would be very much improved.
 
                      * * * * *
 
    Fulla and Azza made their way through the plains due 
south of Cabal City without incident. Azza sometimes forced 
Fulla to get on her back as she was now, but the caster 
preferred to have her own feet on the ground.
    Azza's spirit seemed muted. She was still in mourning 
for Skel-lum. Fulla was also sad that she would not see 
Chainer or Skellum again, but Fulla was easily distracted 
when she was not in the pits. While she remembered that she 
was sad, she did not always remember why.
    For days before the First's surprise announcement that 
he was leaving, Fulla had strange dreams. They were of a 
jovial figure who sat on top of a huge pile of money. The 
figure's voice hurt Fulla's head, and he kept insisting 
that she should get out of Cabal City and head south. Fulla 
eventually agreed just to get the figure to leave her 
alone, and Azza had refused to let her make the dangerous 
trip by herself. They were hardly outside the city walls 
when the commotion at the arena began, but they were too 
far away to make it back in time for the fun.
    As they came over a rise in the road, they saw a tall 
man standing before them in the distance. Many bodies were 
strewn around his feet, as if his party had all fallen 
asleep at the same time. When the tall man turned toward 
them, both Fulla and Azza straightened up. "The Cabal is 
here," Fulla called.
    "And everywhere," replied the First. Closer to the 
scene, Fulla could see that the bodies of four or five 
snake-men lay dead and blackened around the First's feet, 
along with a handful of humans in Cabal clothing. He smiled 
as his children approached, ignoring the corpses around 
him.
    "It seems we are all going to Aphetto," the First said. 
"Yes, Pater." Azza carried Fulla past the First, slowing 
her pace but not stopping.
    "I would offer you Azza's back, Pater," Fulla said, 
"but that wouldn't be good for either of you."
    "No, my child. You two go on ahead. I have already sent 
for an escort from Aphetto, which should be here shortly." 
He dipped his head toward the dead at his feet. "The first 
three escorts were waylaid on the road as soon as they 
picked me up. Then their waylayers fell ill. Such a waste."
    Azza and Fulla were now completely past the First, and 
the caster had to turn to continue the conversation. "We 
shall see you in Aphetto then, Pater."
    "Indeed. I have much to ask you about the final Mirari 
Games."
    "The First is wise."
    "Long live the Cabal."
    Fulla and Azza rode on over the next rise, and the 
First disappeared behind them. Azza began to trot, but 
Fulla tugged on her neck.
    "We're in no rush, sweet Azza," Fulla said. The 
hellhound dropped back to a slower pace, and they rode on.